


A Flight of Flowers

by All_the_damned_vampires



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Caning, Dubious Consent, First Time, Flogging, Ice Cream As Therapy, Lack of Communication, Loss of Control, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Praise Kink, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Temperature Play, Top Drop, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeur!Misha, Voyeurism, bastinado, farmers markets, minor accidental injury, past verbal/emotional abuse, toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7336717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_the_damned_vampires/pseuds/All_the_damned_vampires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is a vendor at a farmer’s market, making soaps and lotions.  Misha sells honey and makes fun of the hipsters.  Jared just loves the organic produce—and Jensen.  After a long flirtation, Jensen takes Jared home.  He ties him up, beats him and makes him come.  It’s exactly what Jared asked for.</p><p>They break up the next day.</p><p>What happens next is the unraveling of the mystery of Jared and Jensen’s breakup.  The baggage they both carry, the gaps in experience and trust, what went wrong and where communication broke down.  Told in a series of flashbacks, each snippet of their past reveals more about who they are, what they love, and how they can make being together work.</p><p>Note: Title taken from e.e.cummings’ poem “My Love”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snapdragon

**Author's Note:**

> All the art for this piece was done by the wonderful EmmatheSlayer; please drop by her Masterpost (emmatheslayer.livejournal.com/374899.html) and leave her some love. Thank you so much for collaborating with me on this, bb!
> 
> Heartfelt thanks to tipsy_kitty for beta-ing this story and her keen insight into the dynamics of the Js' relationship.

 

Jared wakes naked, face down on Jensen’s floor, large hands tied together before him with a smooth line of hemp rope, fate spooled around Jared’s strong wrists, chafing destiny into his skin with each twist and flex of his hands.

"What—"

"Be quiet," Jensen says softly.

"Can I—"

"No." Jensen says.

"But just tell me—"

"Don’t speak.  Not now."

A dark red, silk scarf is wrapped around Jared’s eyes, cradling him in the darkness.  Dark red is just his color, Jensen thinks, blood red, passion red.  The color of scarlet poppies.

Sitting atop Jared’s thighs, Jensen can see the undulation of muscle in Jared’s calves.  His long, narrow feet twitch, restless as a cat.  Smooth, innocent soles, pink and tender.  Flesh that never sees the sun.

Jensen raises the rattan cane in his grip, elbow jutted and awkward, and brings it down with a swish and a crack.  Jared’s feet flex at the impact, and he howls his pain into the carpet.  Jared screams and Jensen strikes, watching toes curl and stiffen, a fine pattern of pink and white emerging on Jared’s soles, as sweet to the eye as striped peppermint candy.

The air is scented with sweat and pain, meaty and alive in a way Jensen’s house has never smelled before.  Jared sobs into the carpet and Jensen sets down the cane, slides down to cradle a foot in his palm and stroke a finger in a slow path along that abused skin.  Jared jerks and tries to throw off the weight that presses him down, a startled pony.

"Settle."

"Oh God.  Please."

"No.  Be quiet."

"But tell me—"

Raising the cane, Jensen strikes again, one bright red line across Jared’s tensed calves.  Jared screams again, and Jensen soothes the mark with a stroking hand, cupping the rounded muscle as it swells in his gentle grip.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes.  God, yes."

"Good boy."

A soft sigh rises up from Jared at those words and Jensen feels the struggle drain from the body beneath him.  He stands.  Watches Jared’s back shudder and heave.  A lot of satiny skin, wet with perspiration, to decorate.  His hand twitches around the cane.  Not now.

"Try to stand."

Jared does, pushing up with his bound hands, and immediately topples back down, hissing in pain, as his mottled feet refuse to bear his weight.

Jensen says softly, "Do you know what to do?"

"No I—"

"Crawl."

Up on his hands and knees, Jared doesn’t look small, diminished.  No, he looks intimidating.  There’s power there, coiled in those corded muscles.  As soon as Jensen has the thought Jared lunges to the side, following the sound of Jensen’s voice and Jensen is forced to sidle hastily away.  There’s pressure and a scrape and yes, that was Jared’s teeth, making contact with the side of Jensen’s smooth, brown boot.

Swish.  Crack.  A red line blooms on Jared’s thighs, fire rushing in a straight, thin line as Jared yells.  One quick hop and Jensen is straddling that broad back, sweat dampening the inseam of his jeans, as he uses his weight to subdue and control his mount.

"Settle down."

A press of fingers inside Jared’s armpits--tangling in wet tufts of hair--and Jared yelps and goes down on his belly.  Jensen holds him to the floor.

"I think that was cheating," Jared says into the carpet.

"I had no idea you were ticklish."  Jensen removes his hands, presses his fingers to his nose, mouth.  Salt and onions on his tongue.

"But can we just talk—"

"No."

There’s a moment when it seems Jared might speak, but then he subsides.  Presses his gift of silence down into the floor, up into Jensen’s hips.  It’s both pleasure and disappointment, Jensen thinks.  Struggle then submission.  He wants more of both from Jared.

With reluctance, Jensen stands and dismounts.  Jared stays flat, belly to the carpet, head tracking side to side, nostrils flaring as he struggles with the loss of one of his senses.

"Crawl.  Explore.  I need to get started on dinner."

"You want me to crawl around your house?"

"I’ve locked the doors to the rooms I don’t want you to get into."

Then Jensen kneels and cradles Jared’s cheek in his palm. "You’re safe.  There’s nothing in my house that can hurt you."

Jared jerks like a snake and sets his square, white teeth firmly into the fleshy part of Jensen’s palm.  Mount of Venus in Jared’s mouth.  Jensen yells and jerks away.  Pink imprint of teeth like a line of tiny smiles.  No blood.

"You deserved that."  Jared sounds smug.

"And you’ll deserve what you get later."  Jensen stands and strides away.

"Wait—"

"Crawl.  Familiarize yourself.  Don’t touch the blindfold. Or you can join me in the kitchen.  Although you might not like how the linoleum floor feels under your knees."


	2. Geranium

The kitchen is Jensen’s favorite part of the house.  It looks out on his garden, his flower and herb beds, twisty spirals of tomato plants, the shivery stalks of sunflower and corn.  Dried herbs dangle from strings over the kitchen sink, dusty in the sun, twisting in the breeze blowing in from the open porch door.  Sage, thyme, basil, coriander.  Green smells in Jensen’s nose.

Jensen moves the rack of drying mason jars from the stove so he can put water on to boil.  Simple pasta, homemade red sauce, summer garden salad.  The same as he would do for himself, home alone without a large, rope-bound guest to feed.  There’s pleasure and sorrow in the effort of cooking for one, food that feeds the soul but also sparks yearning, loneliness.

There’s a curse and a thump from the next room and Jensen smiles.  Jared must have tumbled into his grandmother’s old rocking chair.  There’s nothing else of hazard in the room, a room swept carefully clean of picture frames and potted plants.

Along the sink are fresh herbs in rows of mason jars, swimming in cool water.  Jensen selects a chunk of basil and a knife and begins a chiffonade. Late at night, awake and bereft and watching home shopping, Jensen has seen ads for all manner of choppers.  Technology easing the burden, the burn in the forearm and the risk of a slip and a bloody finger. 

No.  Pain and effort are just as much a part of living as anything else.

Jared crawls into the kitchen just as Jensen is plating the meal.  He grips the doorframe with his bound hands and tries to stand, then topples over to his knees with a muted curse.

"Going to keep me like this all weekend?"

"Yes.  Of course.  Crawl over here.  You’ll find a chair and the table.  Sit."

It’s painful and awkward, a big man like Jared trying to clamber into a ladder-back kitchen chair without using his feet.

"Jesus."

"Don’t be such a baby."

Jared unexpectedly laughs. "Can we—"

"No.  Tell me, what did you learn?"

"About your house?  Not much.  You have a pretty small TV.  Carpet needs vacuuming.  And your front door is locked and bolted."

Jensen looks up sharply. "Did you try to get out?"

Sitting with his bound hands in front of him, Jared shrugs.

"It’s just me and my neighbor on this spread.  Five miles is a long way to crawl."

Jared shrugs again.

"Don’t try it again."

"I just want to know—"

"I said no.  Now enough.  Be quiet and we’ll have dinner."

There’s an abortive reach across the table, as if Jared expects Jensen to hand him a plate.  Instead, Jensen reaches out, covers Jared’s hands with his own.  He pushes them off the table and into Jared’s lap.

A quick twirl of the fork to pick up angel hair, tomato sauce and herbs and Jensen lifts the laden fork to Jared’s pink, parted mouth and says, "Open."

There’s that moment again, that dance between rebellion and acquiescence.  Jared tightens his mouth, then suddenly parts his lips in slack acceptance.  Jensen can see the pink tongue, the slick teeth, the wet darkness of Jared’s mouth.  Open.  Waiting.

Jensen swallows hard, then slides the fork into Jared’s mouth.

"S’good," Jared says, after chewing and swallowing and weighing the flavors for a moment.  Jensen appreciates that.  It’s not a knee-jerk reply, a pat response, the polite thing to say whether the food is appetizing or not.  Jensen can tell Jared means it.

Jensen takes his own bite with their shared fork. "It is."

"This is from your garden, right?"

"The sauce and the herbs, yes.  I’m not enough of a glutton for punishment that I make my own pasta."

"Why don’t you sell any of it?  The sauce I mean.  You don’t sell any food at your stand."

"I don’t produce enough vegetables in the garden.  And I have enough on my shoulders making essential oils and soaps."

Jensen can see Jared again, in his mind, that first day they met.  Somewhat sheepish in an ugly plaid shirt and rough jeans, sidling over to peruse Jensen’s wares at the farmer’s market.  Lifting the lid on the tester of homemade lavender body scrub and inhaling greedily, shamefully.  The shame some men feel when they seek out softness and sensuality, when they’ve only ever been taught to be hard and cold.

**

_"I wouldn’t pick that one for you," Jensen said calmly and then quirked an eyebrow when Jared  blushed._

_"Yeah, I guess this stuff isn’t really my thing."  Jared cut his eyes away, before Jensen could even discern their color._

_"This one," Jensen said swiftly and slid the citrus one across the counter.  Brightness in tangible form.  Like brushing life and light over your skin with each oil-and-sugar stroke.  A scent without gender. The kind of pleasure a reserved man might accept._

_Jared sniffed and murmured softly, eyelashes fluttering as he indulgently inhaled the scent.  His eyes then opened slowly, heterochromatic, a golden starburst around each pupil.  He was beautiful in that moment._

_**_

He’s beautiful now.

There’s the swaying exchange of the fork across the table.  A bite for Jared, then a bite for Jensen.  And if Jensen is a bit imprecise, messy, just to watch Jared’s tongue chase sauce around on his lower lip, there’s no one here to see.

"No meat?"

"I could make a joke I suppose.  I’m a vegetarian."

"Why?"

"It’s easier."

"It isn’t."  There’s a furrow above the blindfold, a crease of stubbornness sitting on Jared’s brow.

"It is for me."

"Are we going to…later…I want to talk about it!"

"I don’t.  Just eat."

"I’ve never—"

"Hush."

Jared subsides, but Jensen can still see tension in the set of Jared’s shoulders.

After the meal Jensen wipes Jared’s mouth with a dishtowel; he has a fondness for the plain ones, flour sack material in the traditional style.  The dishes don’t take long and Jensen leaves Jared to sit, to stew and anticipate, alone at the table.

"What’s that?" Jared asks, as Jensen runs a dish cloth over the table, swiping up the mess with his own homemade cleaner.

"Geranium all-purpose soap.  I make it myself."

"There was a bit of that in what you gave me, wasn’t there?  The lemon thing."

"Good nose."  Jensen is surprised.  Yes, there was a note of geranium in the lemon scrub.  Lemon and geranium, the hallmarks of an unexpected meeting.  Unexpected, but welcome.


	3. Dog Rose Blossom

Jensen leaves the kitchen and heads into the living room.  The blinds are drawn—they’ll be closed all weekend, regardless of the time of day.  Jared is right, his carpet does need vacuuming.  So easy to let such things go, living alone.  Jensen’s kitchen and workroom are spotless, but he doesn’t much care about the dust bunnies under his couch.  Sighing, Jensen fetches a cotton sheet from the linen closet and unfolds it in the middle of the room.

Jared is hovering the doorway, clumsy on his knees and bound wrists.

"What are we doing?"

"Come here and lie down in the middle of this sheet."

"But what are we doing?"

"Are you going to be like this all weekend?" Jensen asks.

"Yes.  C’mon.  It’s okay to drop me a clue now and then."

"I told you I don’t want to.  I don’t know why you persist in trying to take control."

"Maybe because I woke up with no pants and you beating on me. C’mon."

"Fine.  I’m going to punish you.  For biting me.  And for asking relentless questions."

"Jesus."  Jared sways a bit against the doorway.

"Do you feel better knowing?"

"No, not really."

Again this moment, this delicious pause in time and space.  Struggle or surrender?  Which one will Jared choose?

Jensen smiles as Jared crawls across the floor and arranges himself on the sheet on his back.  He looks good against the white fabric, tan from his work outdoors, chiaroscuro contrast.  Bound hands tucked under his chin, like he’s praying.

"On your stomach."

Hesitation, then Jared rolls, stretching his hands above his head.  Smooth stretch of brown skin.  The two lines on his thighs and calves have faded, no hint of pink remains.  But his feet are already bruising, red and purple pinpricks dotting the swollen surface.

"Two strokes of the cane.  For the two bites."

"That’s unfair!  I barely grazed your shoe!"

"It is unfair.  Two strokes."  And Jensen has the cane in his hand and is drawing it down fast and hard twice in quick succession.

"Ow! OW!"

"Done.  Big baby."

"'You know, Fritz, one of these days, I’m gonna have a stick of my own'," Jared intones from the floor and surprises Jensen into laughing.

The antique chest in Jensen’s living room serves as his coffee table and also as his repository for impact implements.  He discards the cane inside and pulls out a flogger.  Once it's in his hands, there’s a sudden, unexplained wave of sadness, sharp and bitter as rue on his tongue, and he almost drops the toy back into the chest.

He could untie Jared.  Hand him back his sad, hideous clothes.  Make him a cup of rosehip tea.  Take him to bed.  Tepid, vanilla lovemaking, the way so many other people manage it.  It’s been weeks of Jared dropping by Jensen’s stand, cup of coffee for himself in one hand, mint tea for Jensen in the other.  Small talk and lost moments, Jared propping his elbow against the wooden support of Jensen’s stand, Jensen falling harder and harder for those varicolored eyes.

Weeks of pleasure and weeks of hope.  Why ruin it for the ephemeral chance of something more?

Struggle, then surrender.

Jensen draws the flogger out.  For this he crouches down, draws the strands through Jared’s bound hands, lets him sniff the warm, rich scent of deer hide leather.

"This one’s for all the questions, I suppose."

"Yes.  But it will feel good, too."

"I doubt that."  But Jared draws quiet.  Gives his stillness to Jensen.

The strands are long enough that Jensen can strike from a standing position, with Jared prone on the floor.  Jensen starts slow, muscle memory overcoming the rusty sensation of doing something he thought he might never do to a living person, having to make do with practice on a wall or a pillow.

He’s got the intensity level right, because Jared gasps, and then sighs and then melts into it.  Figure eights, side to side, heating the expanse of skin beneath him, staying in the safety zones.  Rhythmic, as natural as a heartbeat, the force rising and rising until Jared is moaning on the floor beneath him, taking them both under and over with the pleasure of it.

All the internet videos in the world haven’t prepared Jensen for how it feels.  Like a line of electricity, shooting straight up his arm with each stroke, like he and Jared are sharing energy back and forth, connected in some cosmic way.  There’s no time here, no sense of anything but the here and now. Each stroke coats Jared’s back in a swatches of sweet pink, like a dog rose blossom.

Jensen stops when his shoulder begins to ache, and Jared begins humping the floor.  He drops the flogger to the side and shakes out his arm.  Hot, he feels hot and impossibly aroused.  Is this how Jared feels too?

"Good?"

"Umpf.  Thought you didn’t wanna talk about it," Jared mutters, voice muzzy with lust.

"You’re wired for it, so there’s that."

"Yeah.  What would you have done if I wasn’t?"

"Stop.  You’re ruining the moment."

"You brought it up."

Jensen rolls Jared over.  He’s limp, boneless, every bit of tension and power drained out of him by the flogging.  Jared hisses as his back hits the floor, then sags back into the sheet.  He pulses his hips up lazily, dick hard and leaking at the tip.

"Want something?"

"Mm. Uh-huh."

He’s not so nervous now, Jensen thinks, enjoying the sight of Jared’s lazy undulations.  So different for how Jared usually is, a flinch built in to his day-to-day mannerisms.

**

_"Me again," Jared said cheerfully the second time he came to Jensen’s stand and Jensen popped his head up and quickly smothered his smile.  There had been that zing of attraction upon first meeting, but Jensen was wary.  People flirted with him often and he found it tiresome.  Lacking substance.  A stern face and a bored tone of voice usually drove them away._

_Although Jared was broadly grinning, something about the way he moved shouted 'kicked dog' at Jensen.  It suddenly seemed wrong to come across as bored and aloof and Jensen found himself giving his smile to Jared after all._

_"Not a fan of the lemon?"_

_"No, it was great!  It um, it just wasn’t what I needed."_

_Jared looked steadily into Jensen’s eyes._  You _, the look seemed to say,_ I need you _.  Then Jensen blinked and realized Jared was holding up his large hands, rubbing his fingers across the palms.  The sound was dry and raspy._

_"Hand cream?"_

_"Yeah."_

_Jensen swallowed the joke lingering at the tip of his tongue._

_"It depends on how bad it is," Jensen said. "You might be better off with a petroleum based product."_

_"Dude! Can you even say that here?!"_

_Jared’s eyes darted around the farmer’s market, taking in the nearby vendors selling hemp milk, organic vegetables, assorted goat and sheep milk cheeses.  It took a moment for Jensen to realize that Jared had been making a joke._

_"The hipsters won’t cart me off to be burned at the stake," Jensen returned playfully, but a beat too slow._

_"It’s not that bad, anyway.  I work construction, so they just get a little banged up."_

_"Let me see."_

_Another one of those long looks from Jared, and Jensen flushed a bit as he realized his words had come off more as a command than a request.  There was something in the air, this electric charge between them both._

_Jensen led out his own hand on the counter, open and palm up.  Waiting._

_Jared hesitated, and then placed his hand in Jensen’s own.  Lax.  Open.  Accepting._

_There was no need to do so, but Jensen let his thumb drift across Jared’s palm, exploring the rough skin.  Tracing over the life line, the heart line, and finally settling to press against Jared’s own thumb, pad to pad._

_When Jared closed his fingers around Jensen’s thumb, Jensen slowly slid his hand away._

_"You have something?"  That 'kicked dog' expression was back.  Jared hadn’t liked Jensen pulling away._

_"Yes.  Same scent as the one I gave you before."_

_"Cool.  How much?"_

_Jensen placed the jar in Jared’s hand. "On the house."_

_Because it had been important to give Jared something, even if it wasn’t necessarily the something Jared had truly wanted._

_**_

"You gonna come down here?" Jared asks, jerking Jensen back to the present.  He lets his knees fall open, the tender skin of his inner thighs offered up to Jensen.  Like everywhere else on Jared, the expanse of his thighs is bejeweled with pinpricks of perspiration.

"Yeah."

A hitch of the hips. "Now?"

"Soon.  Don’t move.  Hold your legs open."

Jensen picks the flogger back up.  He lets the tails trail across his own palm, his own forearm.  Suede strips tickling across Jared’s stomach, Jared’s legs.

"Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"Don’t hurt me there."

"Is that what you think I’m going to do?"  A different person than Jensen would soothe, comfort.  Confirm his intentions.

A better person might not thrill so much to Jared’s fear.

"Please."

"Do you trust me?"

"That isn’t fair!"  The haze of muddled pleasantness is fading from Jared’s voice, replaced by uncertainty.

"I won’t," Jensen promises and he watches Jared’s throat as the other man swallows hard, surrenders.  He can see that Jared doesn’t quite believe him, but he’s resigned. He won't say 'no'.

"Okay," Jared whispers.

It’s a lighter touch than the strokes Jensen put on Jared’s back, but not by much.  When the first strike connects with Jared’s inner thigh, Jared yips high in his throat, coming half off the floor, then lies back, relieved.  Back and forth, side to side.  Jensen watches the muscles in Jared’s thighs twitch and jump at the contact, the knee on each side fluttering up, like the wing of a butterfly.

Jared’s thighs are hot and red by the time Jensen slows and then halts his strokes.  Jared has long since surrendered fully, thighs held open, hips pulsing lazily at each impact, head lolling with abandon against the sheet.  Jensen drops the flogger and crashes to his knees, each palm running up the length of those feverishly hot inner thighs.  There’s fire banked beneath his palms.

"Mm.  Told ya to come down here."

"I’m here."

"Please."  Jared lazily pumps his hips.  The head of his cock is glossy and wet.

"Feet flat on the floor.  Bend your knees."

"M’kay."

Jensen runs his hand along Jared’s leg, down around the curve of his ass, fingers stroking the furred crease.  It’s incongruous to what Jensen expects; this soft downy covering, damp and pleasing to his fingertips.  Every porno Jensen’s ever viewed the actors have been waxed within an inch of their lives.

Even slack and accepting as he is, Jared stills when Jensen swirls a finger around his opening.

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Scared.  I’m scared," Jared murmurs softly.

"I won’t hurt you."

"Why can’t we talk abou’t?"

"We did."

"S’not the same and you know it," Jared says and there’s reproach mixed into the slur of his voice.

"Hush."  There’s a jar of cream tucked inside a drawer on a side table.  It’s an easy stretch for Jensen to retrieve the jar, open the lid with a crisp pop.

"What’s that?"

"Smell."  Jensen waves the jar close to Jared’s sweaty face.

"Smells like pie."

"Cinnamon and clove in the cream." Two fingers dipped and slick and Jensen’s mouth waters at the scent.  He swirls them down low, tracing the contours of Jared’s opening, learning this new part of him.

"Warm."

"A bit."  There’s no hurry, as Jensen’s fingertips dance and stroke.  Swallowing hard, mouth wet, it’s the easiest thing in the world for Jensen to bend and lick luxuriously up the length of Jared’s cock.

"Mm.  Oh, more, please."

"Greedy."

"Yes."

Up to the tip and back down to the root.  Jensen licks slow, languid, tasting every inch of the man beneath him, spit dripping out of his mouth, making the cock beneath him wet and sloppy.  His fingers circle around and around, until he feels Jared pressing down, offering himself.  It’s an easy slide inside for one finger, then two.  Jared accepts them with a thread-y moan.

"You like that."

"Yes. Mm. Please."

Jensen crooks his fingers inside the plush heat of Jared’s body.  He smiles around the tip of Jared’s cock as Jared lets of a muffled groan.

"Good boy," Jensen says and the words make Jared moan louder than the fingers snugged against his prostate.

"Burning."

"A little." It’s the spices in the cream.

"Please.  Please say it again."

"Good boy," Jensen repeats and Jared cries out and jerks against him.  It’s too much.  Jensen swallows him down, sucking Jared’s cock into his mouth, fingers punching below, again and again.  He loses himself to taste and smell and feel, to Jared’s cries in his ears and Jared’s body writhing beneath his hands.

"I can’t," Jared wails and then his ass is clenching, his hips pumping, and there’s a sharp taste flooding Jensen’s mouth.  There’s a moment of unease, disgust, and then acceptance and awe as Jensen swallows it all down.

It’s the first time anyone’s ever come in his mouth.


	4. Sunflower

_"Buy you a cup of coffee?" Jared said on the third meeting.  He had a fistful of slender tubes in his hand, another one jutting out of his mouth like a golden cigarette._

_"Found the honey I see."_

_"Yeah.  Got a sweet tooth that won’t quit.  Guy gave me all these samples free."_

_"That’s Misha."  Jensen craned his neck out of the booth, looked a few stalls down.  Misha had been watching and waved, face merry and mischievous.  Jensen narrowed his eyes at him._

_"Nice guy."_

_"He’s my neighbor.  It’s his honey I use in my products."  Jensen then realized he was irrationally jealous._

_Jared sucked more honey out of the straw, lips pursed and cheeks hollowed, no idea what it was doing to Jensen.  Then again, Jensen thought, watching Jared’s dark, intense gaze, maybe he did._

_"He said they had great coffee just over there." Jared gestured with his fist to the left.  "Fair market something or other.  I was gonna go get myself one.  Want one?"_

_"No," Jensen said and watched the hope in Jared’s eyes die._

_"Oh."_

_"I don’t drink coffee," Something Misha knew, the little shit. "Tea.  There’s a stall that does a great iced tea, just over there."_

_"Great!" Jared was nearly bouncing on his toes. "Want one?"_

_"Yes."_

_"How do you take it?"_

_"Get me a large black tea with mint, no sweeteners."_

_"Okay," Jared said a bit breathlessly and he sounded strangely more nervous than excited. "Is that what you want?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Anything else?"_

_"No."_

_"Okay!" Jared took off down the central path and Jensen suppressed a smile at the way Jared had bounded off, nearly running, honey still clutched in his fist.  Not a minute later Misha strolled over._

_"Cute."_

_"Back off," Jensen snarled._

_Misha laughed. "Lift your leg and pee a circle around him, won’t you.  I get it.  Anyway, you’re the one he’s stalking."_

_"Stalking?"_

_"He was watching your stall three weeks in a row before he finally got the nerve to come over."_

_Useful information.  But Jensen said, "Don’t you have customers?"_

_"Bah.  Who cares?  This is much more interesting than listening to Mr. and Mrs. I-own-a-Prius bitch about their seasonal allergies."_

_"You’re going to scare him off," Jensen said and it took him a moment to realize he had said it out loud._

_"No,_ you’re _going to scare him off.  He’s so earnest and sweet and you’re acting like he’s annoying you when I can tell you love every minute of it.  Give the poor puppy a bone."_

_"Okay.  Fine.  Go away."_

_It had taken a while before Jared had made his way back, two teas clutched in his hands, honey peeking out of the pocket of yet another ugly plaid shirt.  Jensen had thought that Jared might not come back at all; the tea vendor was tucked away at the very end of the market, hard to see.  Jared might have thought it a fool’s errand, a way to get rid of him._

_"Found it?" Jensen asked._

_"Yeah," Jared answered, something hurt in his tone.  Like he knew it had been a test._

Prove your devotion _, Jensen thought and then scoffed at himself.  They had only just met._

_Jared handed over one of the teas and Jensen reached over and plucked a honey stick from Jared’s shirt pocket.  He bit through one end and tipped it into the cup, letting it dissolve.  He raised the tea to his lips and took a sip. Spice and mint and cold sweetness._

_"It’s okay?" Jared asked, more anxious than he should have been and Jensen wanted to shake him._ Don’t show me how easy it is to hurt you _, Jensen thought._

_"It’s perfect.  Thank you," Jensen said, because it was, and because how could he say anything else and because it made Jared smile._

_**_

Jensen stands in front of the bathroom mirror, breathing hard.  He’s left Jared on the floor, lolling on the sheets, blissed out and communing with the dust bunnies under the couch.  It’s not safe, leaving him alone like that, flying high and vulnerable.

It’s safer though, than Jensen being in the room with him.

God, he _wants_.

Perfect.  It was perfect.  Everything he’d hoped for and better, all he wanted and somehow still not enough.  Perfect isn’t a destination, an end result.  Perfection is climbing higher and higher, nirvana lingering on the horizon and every step more and more thrilling.

Jensen wants.  He wants so much.  And the man he wants to give it to is lying defenseless and open on his floor.  He can do anything, _anything_.

Sucking in air, trying to calm his racing heart, Jensen struggles for control.  He wants to get back in there.  More pain, more control.  He wants to fuck Jared, feel him come on his cock, pound him through the pleasure and back into pain.  He wants to see that beautiful, open face, showing him every secret.

"Jensen?"

Vulnerable.  Nervous.  Jared transmitting his feeling through the tremor in his deep voice, now that Jensen can’t see his wrecked, defenseless expressions.

"Yeah, coming!" Jensen calls.  He splashes water on his face, towels it off roughly.  Fills a cup with water from the bathroom sink.  His erection is not going down any time soon.  Take care of it.  He could.  Slide deep inside Jared’s ass, fuck him hard.  Be his first.  He could be Jensen’s first too, not that Jensen would ever admit to it. He could do anything to Jared, and the other man would probably let him.

Jared is still on the floor where Jensen left him, limbs spread open, like a butterfly mounted and pinned.  Jensen would have expected him to curl up, to tuck protectively in, as he came down from the euphoria of his orgasm and the sweat on his skin chilled.  Instead, Jared is still offering himself up, legs spread wide open.

"Jensen?"

"I’m here."

"Are we…"

"Be quiet."

"Not this again," Jared murmurs softly, sounding reproachful.  Jensen circles around, looking down at the man he’s whipped and fingered and sucked and made come screaming.  He wants to collapse down on top of Jared.  He wants to lick every inch of that dewy skin.

"Can you sit up?"

Frowning, Jared does.  He draws his bound hands back towards his chest, pulls his knees in.   Uncertain, waiting for what Jensen will do.

"Now what?"

"Quiet.  You’re not very good at following directions."

"I’m curious.  Can…can I please you?"

"You’re doing fine," Jensen says gruffly. "Drink this."

Soft pink lips search for the rim of the cup, like a horse mouthing after a carrot.  Jensen makes it messy, rivulets of water trickling down Jared’s chin, dripping on the tan expanse of his chest.  What flavors would Jensen taste, if he chased those drops with his tongue?  He runs a finger down the path of one water droplet, trails it all the way to Jared’s brown nipple, dangling there like a tiny diamond.  Jensen circles that wet crinkle of flesh with his fingertip, watches Jared shiver under his touch.

"Please."

He helps Jared up on the couch, pillowing the other man’s head in his lap.  One hand drags Jensen’s grandmother’s afghan down around Jared’s shoulders.  It’s a shame, covering up that beautiful body, but now Jensen can see Jared’s suppressed shivers.

The television clicks on and Jared’s blindfolded head pops up.  His pink lips purse and he rubs them together nervously.

_"So ends my last signal before we reach our destination…"_

"Seriously?"

"Quiet.  Watch."

"Watch.  Ha-ha.  You know I can’t see anything."

"You’ve seen this movie a million times," Jensen scolds softly.  So has Jensen, ever since Jared mentioned it.  He’s watched it and imagined another man, no less lean and tall, but with darker hair and more exotic eyes.  Sometimes he dreams of being on horseback, of riding Jared down.  Jared, brown and nude and running through the tall grass, going down sweet and vulnerable under a net of hemp.

There’s pressure against the throbbing erection in Jensen’s pants and he looks down.  Jared is rubbing his cheek against Jensen’s cock, cat-like.  His mouth is wet and open and he turns to breathe wet warmth through Jensen’s pants, his lips pressing against the obscene bulge at Jensen’s fly.

"Stop that."

"But you didn’t—"

"No, I didn’t.  Stop.  Behave yourself and watch the movie."

"You didn’t like it…?"

Enough.  Jensen reaches under the blanket and finds a sensitive weal on Jared’s heated thigh by touch.  He pinches until Jared jerks and lets out a low shout.

"Ow!"

"You going to behave?"

"Yes, it’s just…ow! Ow! Sorry!"

"Be quiet now," Jensen reproves and Jared does, mouth tightening.  He wiggles around a bit, looking nervous, unsure.  Jensen sighs.

"Good boy," he whispers and the tension leaves Jared’s body in a quiet rush.  He lets his head settle in Jensen’s lap, making room against his cheek for the swell of Jensen’s cock.  Jensen threads a hand through all that sweat-wet, messy hair.

"Good boy," Jensen says again and this time Jared relaxes all the way.

 

_**_

_"Favorite movie?" Jared prompted, and Jensen shrugged. He had always been reluctant to reveal himself.  The fact that Jared gave up all the pieces of himself so easily just made it clearer to Jensen that he had been right to guard himself so carefully._

_They’ve talked about movies and music, food and places, sex and relationships.  Knee to knee at a picnic bench, week after week, almost but not quite a date.  Jensen’s been careful to ask more than he’s told.  And Jared’s chatty nature makes it easy to hold back._

_Jensen doesn’t watch movies like Jared does.  Jared rushes right out for every major blockbuster, likes to settle down in a crowded theater with popcorn and a soda, let the reaction of the audience rush over him.  A shared experience.  Jensen is more careful.  Every film he watches he rents at home, waiting for the release date, reading reviews and weighing his choices.  He doesn’t like to waste his time.  Movies aren’t a luxury now, but they were once, and each one seems like a gift, to be opened and savored in private._

_"No.  Instead, tell me about a movie that changed your life," Jensen countered._

_Jared sat for a moment, thinking.  Then he flushed and pressed a hand to his mouth, hiding a smile._

_"What?"_

_"No.  Okay, fine.  'Planet of the Apes'."_

_"With Mark Wahlberg?" Jensen hadn’t seen that one.  He likes science fiction, but the reviews had been too bad for Jensen to countenance spending money._

_"No.  The original.  Charlton Heston."_

_"Yes, and Mark Wahlberg."_

_"No, man.  I mean, yes, he was in the new one, the remake.  But in the old one, he’s the lead.  The star."_

_Jensen raised an eyebrow, waited.  Silence was usually enough to send Jared into a spate of chatter._

_"It’s just.  I saw it when I was a teenager.  When I was all hormonal and…figuring things out.  Trying to, anyway.  It’s…it’s a surprisingly kinky film, for a film that I think isn’t supposed to be kinky at all."_

_"I thought it was about space travel and evolved primates."_

_"Yes but." Jared blushed then, heat climbing up from his neck. "It’s just, Heston gets to the planet and the apes take him prisoner.  He’s naked, tied up, gagged.  Chained up in a cage and beaten.  There’s talk about breeding him and…look, you probably don’t want to hear this."_

_"It’s fine."_

_"He, he plays it straight.  In the film.  Like there’s nothing weird about what everyone is doing to him.  It’s totally cool that the ape researchers are basically getting off on the idea of watching him try to breed this female human.  I…I kind of wanted to be Heston.  In the film.  That character.  Anyway, definitely taught me a lot about myself."_

_"That you want to be tied up and gagged and beaten," Jensen supplied, heart pounding a bit.  The imagery had been everything._

_"Yeah, I guess," Jared said, eyes wide and steady and there it was.  All Jensen had to do was reach out, close his fingers around the frantic pulse in Jared’s wrist. End this dance.  Let Jared in and put him out of his misery._

_"'Braveheart' taught me a lot about William Wallace," Jensen replied, forcing himself to sound bored and uninterested and Jared smiled stiffly and nodded, the curve of his shoulders dejected._

_  
_


	5. Honeysuckle

The ear-splitting crash from the kitchen jerks Jensen out of sleep, fists raised; shadow-boxing an enemy that only ever existed in his mind.  It is dark and warm in the bedroom.  A sweep of Jensen’s hand on the sheets next to him reveals that Jared is gone.

"Shit! Fuck!  Ow!"

Jensen climbs out of bed, drags his discarded pants up on his hips, and follows the sound of cursing to the kitchen.

Clicking on the light, Jensen squints at the sight of Jared, big and bare and sitting on his ass in Jensen’s kitchen, surrounded by shards of glass.  Red blood dots one hand, both feet, the curve of a brown knee.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Jared laughs, sounding anything but. "Just a couple cuts."

Jensen’s mason jars, left carelessly on the counter, are now in pieces on the floor.  Jensen checks the time on the stove: just a bit past two in the morning.

"Don’t move."

Jensen trots back to the bedroom, draws on his boiled wool slippers.  A quick swoosh of the broom draws the glass away from Jared and into a corner, where it can be dealt with later.

"I got the glass out of the way.  Can you crawl?"

Jared snorts. "No.  I was feeling okay, so I got up to try to walk.  Pulled the glass down.  Stepped in it.  Dropped to my knees to try and feel my way out, then cut my hand and opposite knee.  I suppose I could try to scoot around on my ass like a dog."

"Sexy image, but unnecessary."  Then Jensen is drawing Jared gingerly up and scooping him into his arms with a grunt.

"Dude, I weigh like 200 pounds."

"It’s fine."  And somehow, it is. "You didn’t try to take the blindfold off?"

"You said not to."

 Jensen hauls Jared into the bedroom and heaves him onto the bed.

"What color are your sheets?  The blood…"

"It’s fine.  Be quiet and stay put.  Two things you seem unable to do."

"You gonna beat on me again?" Jared sounds nervous.

"You punished yourself already.  Cuts on the bottom of your foot.  Even I’m not so much of an asshole I would do that to you.  Stay."

 Jensen stalks away and goes to clean up the glass.  He might as well deal with it now, cool down a bit.  He’s angry at Jared for hurting himself, even though he knows the anger is irrational.  He’s angry at himself for not putting the jars away, for providing a situation in which Jared could be hurt. After he sweeps twice and mops for good measure, he gathers what he needs and heads back to the bedroom.

Sitting where he was placed in the dimly lit bedroom, Jared looks vulnerable.  His shoulders are hunched in that new-old familiar way, head bowed and hanging.  Chagrin and shame telegraphed in every line of his body, nothing hidden about how he is feeling.

Maybe it’s this that inspired contempt from Jared’s ex, but Jensen just feels the need to reassure him.

"Lie down," Jensen says softly.

Trembling a bit, Jared does.

Two shallow gashes on the left sole, a few dabs of blood on the right. A bigger cut on the knee, a blessedly shallow scrape to the palm.  Jensen can’t imagine Jared hefting a hammer or a nail gun with a deeper slice on his dominant hand.

"What are you going to do?"

"Bandage your cuts, dummy.  Hold still."

"Cold!  Cold!  What is that?"

Jensen dips a finger into the jar of honey he is using to coat Jared’s wounds, then dips that finger into Jared’s open mouth.

"Mmm."  Dart of Jared’s pink tongue across his lower lip.

"Honey is antibacterial.  And you’re teasing me."

"Maybe."

After a light coating of honey to each injury, Jensen tenderly wraps the cuts in white gauze.  Bleached cloth against tanned skin.

"What were you doing, anyway?"  Jensen watches Jared shrug his shoulder, a small, nervous movement.

"Bathroom.  Ow!"

"Bathroom’s in the other direction.  Try again."

"Fine.  You didn’t have to pinch me.  Haven’t I suffered enough?"

"Jared."

"I was hungry!"  Angry, guilty outburst. "I woke up and I was hungry! Okay?!"

"Okay."  Jensen sweeps a hand across Jared’s forehead, lets his fingers tangle in the sweaty hair at Jared’s brow.

"I’m sorry.  I was hungry.  I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad." 

Jared’s making no sense.  Jensen’s watched Jared eat, he knows his appetite.  Big and lusty and open to new food, new experiences. Jared waking in the night and wanting a sandwich or a bowl of cereal isn’t so strange.  Jensen only wishes Jared had thought to wake him.

Then Jensen wonders; has anyone ever made Jared feel bad for being able to eat as much as he wants?  He suddenly wants to smack that nameless ex-girlfriend upside her head.

"Were you trying to sneak food?"

Same small, guilty shrug.

"Wait.  I’ll be right back."

"What are you going to do?"

"Wait.  Settle."

A quick trip to the kitchen and Jensen is back with a spoon and a heaping bowl.

"Open."  Jensen slaps down Jared’s hands as he makes an abortive reach, pressing them down into Jared’s lap. "I said open."

"Okay."  Jared sounds small, impossibly smaller than someone his size should ever be.

There’s a flinch as the cold spoon hits Jared’s bottom lip, clinks against his teeth, but then he opens, quiet, trusting, and lets Jensen slide the spoon inside.

"Mmm. Ice cream."

"Yes."

"Did you make this?"

"Yes.  With Misha.  A sort of collaborative effort."

"Honey and…lavender?"

"Yes, just right."

Jared chews thoughtfully. "What’s the crunch?"

"Honeycomb."

It’s a big bowl of ice cream, enough of a pile that even Jared might get sick of it.  But patient, uncomplaining, Jared lets Jensen feed him.  The bites are small, slowly doled out to keep Jared from chilling his palate.  Finally, Jensen scrapes up the last bit with a clink of the spoon, and places it in his own mouth.

"S’good." Jared sounds sleepy.

But Jensen’s not done.  His hunger is of a different sort. He dips his fingers back into the jar of honey he left sitting by the bed, and liberally coats Jared’s toes.

" _What_."

"Hush."  Lifting one foot, Jensen places his lips against one sticky, dripping toe and slowly sucks.

"Oh fuck!" Jared arches off the bed, fists tangling in the sheets.  Jensen grins, lips tacky, salt and sweetness dancing in his mouth, and sucks harder.  He moves gently down the line of Jared’s toes, lapping honey as he goes, avoiding the bruised soles with their bandaged cuts.

"That should not feel as good as it does."

"Mm."

"Seriously.  I’m—oh—freaking out a bit about how good—oh—this feels."

Jared’s hard again, hips lifting.  He reaches one hand towards his own dick, then jerks that hand away, perhaps expecting a smack to the back of it.

"Go ahead," Jensen mumbles thickly. "Touch yourself."

It’s a sensory overload.  Jensen watches, mouth sticky and full of Jared’s honeyed flesh, as Jared strokes his own cock, rough with a twist to the crown, harder than Jensen ever would have stroked.  It’s easy enough for Jensen to take Jared’s big toe into his mouth, to lick and suck in synchronicity with the pulls of Jared’s own hand.

"Please. Oh, please."

Jensen sucks harder and watches, eyes glazed, as Jared arches and shouts and comes all over his own fist.  Jared collapses down onto the bed, all the tension drained out of his, limp and relaxed and seemingly pleased, the half of his face visible below the scarlet blindfold slack.

"Good?"

"Mm.  What about you?" Jared asks.

"I’m fine," Jensen assures him.  And he is.  He’s aroused and flushed and hard as a rock, but pleased.  A different sort of hunger has been sated. This is enough.

It’s more than Jensen ever hoped to have.

"Go back to sleep," Jensen murmurs, climbing up beside Jared, and Jared sighs and snorts and rolls over, doing just that.

**

_"Are you seeing anyone?" Jensen asked.  They had been sitting at a picnic bench, once the market had closed for the day and Jensen had safely packed away his unsold wares.  A cup of tea in front of Jensen, coffee in front of Jared.  Jared had been bringing them both black mint tea until Jensen had asked him if he really liked it and Jared’s guilty flush had been all the answer he needed._

_"No." Jared looked pleased that Jensen had asked._

_"No one?"_

_That same guilty flush.  "Just got out of a relationship, though."_

_"What happened?"_

_Jared shrugged.  But Jensen had been able to tell that Jared wanted to share.  Overshare, was more like it.  He gave up personal information so easy, talking about his family, his dog, his job.  The five miles he ran every day, the dance classes he had finally begun to take at the local community center. Jensen was used to playing his cards closer to his chest._

_Jared seemed determined to give the world all the ammunition it could ever use against him._

_"You can tell me."_

_"Couldn’t do anything right," Jared said simply and Jensen frowned._

_"I find that hard to believe."_

_"It was always…not the right thing.  Like the first time I brought her flowers…" Jared looked up to check in with Jensen after the pronoun use, but Jensen just stared back, steady and unsurprised. "They were the wrong kind.  She likes peonies.  So three weeks in to the relationship it’s her birthday and I bring her peonies, and she asked where the chocolate was.  It was always one more thing.  And she was always so annoyed, like she’d explained it a thousand times and I was an idiot.  But she was always asking for something new.  Complaining about everything I said and did.  Got to be that I was practically hiring pony rides and sky writers for her birthday."_

_"Just the material things?  She was shallow?"_

_"No.  It was everything.  If I texted, I should have called.  If I called I shouldn’t have bothered her." Jared chuckled a bit mirthlessly. "I always had on the wrong shoes."_

_"How long did you stay with her?"_

_"Two years."  Jared looked angry and defiant at that pronouncement._

_"You should have left after three weeks."_

_"Yeah, that’s what she finally told me."_

_"What?"_

_"Took a big vacation for our second anniversary."  Jared shrugged again. "I saved up for it.  She complained about everything.   The hotel, the spa treatments, the tours.  The clothes I had packed, the bag I had used to pack them in.  I finally snapped at her, asked her what the hell she was doing with me if she hated all the ways I was trying to make her happy, hated everything that made up who I was.  She said she’d been trying to get me to break up with her from the first month.  That the more I took her yelling at me and criticizing me, the more I disgusted her.  I kind of think she got off on it though, like it was some kind of sick power trip."_

_"Jesus."_

_"I thought I loved her.  And I just…I just wanted her to tell me I was doing good.  Just one time.  I was…chasing her approval."_

_"You’re an idiot."_

_"Yeah," Jared said.  "So, after we went home, I had to return the ring."_

_Jensen burst into laughter. "Oh my God!"_

_"Shut up!" But Jared laughed then, too.  A release of some of the pain and self-loathing._

_"How was the sex?"_

_Jared brightened. "Good.  And bad.  I mean, I didn’t mind so much her bossing me around in bed." That blush again. "So, I guess that was where we were clicking."_

_"But bad?"_

_"I wanted…something for myself.  She didn’t seem to care if I was happy, once she got what she wanted."_

Too much _, Jensen thought.  All these open wounds, displayed so vulnerably.  Left bleeding and raw, for anyone to come along and poke at._

_"Don’t do that to yourself again," Jensen said and found himself reaching across the table, taking Jared’s hand._

_"What, seek someone’s approval?  I don’t seem to be able to stop myself."  Need and hunger and despair, all right there for Jensen to see in Jared’s beautiful eyes._

_"Make sure it’s someone who’ll actually appreciate your efforts," Jensen said.  He’d wanted to say more, to offer something to Jared, but the words had stopped in his throat._

_He hadn’t wanted to make any promises he couldn’t keep._


	6. Begonia

"So that was fun."  Jared is standing next to Jensen’s truck, dressed, hands in his pockets.  His overnight bag—never opened, never used—sits on the ground next to his feet.

"Fun," Jensen echoes.  Not exactly the word Jensen would use.  Intense.  Life-altering.  A miracle.

Terrifying.

He lets his eyes drift over Jared, watches the other man flush a bit at the scrutiny.   He did it earlier, Jared naked and vulnerable before him, arms behind his back and legs spread for inspection. It’s burned into his brain, Jared strong and big and naked seared in behind his eyes.  No permanent damage.  More hurts than Jensen had even thought would be inflicted, all of them Jensen’s fault.  It’s easy to imagine: how tender Jared’s soles must be, the itch of the bandages on his cuts, the chafing irritation of his jeans brushing against his thighs and ass.

"I want…can we do it again?"

Jensen’s gaze snaps up from where he’s mentally cataloguing Jared’s delicious wounds.  Again?  Yes and no.  God, the headiness of it, like falling off a cliff, a plunge into deep water.  Jensen thrilled to it and was terrified by it and now Jared just wants to jump back in and do it again?

"I don’t think so," Jensen says quietly and watches Jared’s eager face fall.  He’s gotten used to this, emotions written on Jared’s lips and brow, as loud as a shout.

"Why?" Like a child, confused.

Because.   _Because._   Because Jared bled all over Jensen’s kitchen floor.  Because Jared showed him even more internal pain, more raw scrapes left by other people, holes in Jared’s experience for Jensen to fall into.  Because it made Jensen feel powerful and invincible and vulnerable.  Because it was so much more than Jensen ever thought it would be, and still he wanted more.

"I don’t think it’s going to work out."

"What did I do?  I thought I…just tell me.  Tell me what to do and I’ll get it right next time."  Earnest fear on Jared’s face.  Not like when he had been under Jensen’s hand.  He had been unsure, but comfortable.  Now he’s nearly jittering out of his skin.

What would he do?  God, what _wouldn’t_ he do? Jensen suppresses a shiver of his own fear.  How could he protect Jared? Jensen could ask for the moon, and Jared would kill himself trying to pull it down out of the sky.

In another minute or so, Jared will begin to beg, to make promises and bargains, to humble himself.  Down on his knees on the blacktop, willing to give every last inch of himself to someone who doesn't deserve him.  Jensen can't let that happen.

"There’s nothing you could ever do," Jensen replies coldly, just to kill this misery between them.  He puts everything he can into his face his posture, all the echoes of Jared’s ex that were shared with him. "You could never be good enough."

It’s awful, but it works.  Jared starts to tear up, then ruthlessly swallows it back down.  The contorted face of a man told way too early that boys aren’t supposed to cry. 

They climb in the truck together and Jensen drives them back to where they left Jared’s car.  Jensen’s chest burns.

It’s over.

Jensen isn’t sure how he makes it back home.  He’s made the drive a hundred times—city asphalt giving way to dusty rural road—he could do it drunk or asleep.  If he was ever that stupid.  But something happens this time.  His eyes feel dry, dusty and the flat stretch of road shimmers before his sight, making him blink rapidly.  He thinks of Jared, tries not to think of Jared, and when he focuses on the road again, miles have passed in an instant.  Time lost. He pulls up in front of his house—wide, welcoming porch on a compact '50's bungalow. The white porch railings need to be re-painted. It’s always something.

Inside, the house seems even emptier without Jared’s presence.  The man is larger than life, giving off heat and happiness in a way that few people do.  Ridiculously, Jensen thinks that if he calls out, someone will come bounding out of the bedroom, or the kitchen.  Jared, with his flyaway hair and his smile that threatens to crack his cheeks.  Infectious laugh and babbling voice.  But there’s no one there.

It fine.  Fine.  Jensen is used to it.  The farm house has felt too big and rambling since his grandmother died—ridiculous, it’s a two bedroom, neat and small—but now it feels hollowed out, scooped clean.  Like Jared absorbed what little soul his home had.  Perhaps it fits Jensen even better now.  Empty and cold, just like him.

The sheet is still in the floor.

It may be just Jensen’s imagination, but he swears he can see the imprint of Jared in the white cloth.  A pressing of sweat and surrender, ground into the cloth the way that a flower pressed into a book will leave a powdery, yellow stain.  Jared—big, tan, wet and begging—laid out before him like a gift.  His first chance and his last chance.  His failure.

Shame threatens to rise up and swallow him.  All the things he’s wanted, all the things he’s done.  Shaking, Jensen collapses into the old wooden rocking chair in the living room.  The rockers creak as he shoves back into it, then he’s swaying forward, and then back again.  The wooden arms of the chair aren’t an embrace but they will have to do.  Cold, hard wood, surrounding Jensen on three sides.  It’s what he deserves. Not human comfort.  There’s no one and now there never will be.

He rocks and rocks.  The tears don’t come.  They haven’t in a while.  Perhaps it’s because he finally understands that they’re useless.

It’s selfish, but Jensen let’s his mind cycle back through all the times he’s had the pleasure of Jared’s loud, boisterous company.  All that chatter about the mundane intricacies of Jared’s life, the brush of their hands, the waiting to see him step out of the crowd.  Jared—a head taller than the throng at the farmer’s market—bounding towards him in that puppyish way, eyes sparkling.  Innocence and enthusiasm and God—Jensen has crushed it.  He’s crushed all that sunshine.

Maybe it’s for the best.

Twice now Jared’s given his heart and taken abuse.  Maybe it’s enough.  Maybe next time, he’ll be more cautious, hold more back, be more exacting.  Maybe he’ll demand that his next lover treat him right.

Tilting his head back, Jensen clenches his teeth and howls.  Once for Jared, losing his glossy shine, his dandelion brightness.  And once for the idea that someone else will be the one to make his boy smile.

But Jensen didn’t.  He didn’t make Jared smile.  He was always the one bringing that tremor of uncertainty to Jared’s face, that droop to his lips, dimples disappearing as if they had never been.  Before they’d even been intimate, he’d only been stern and guarded. He was aloof and rigid in response to every one of Jared’s shared experiences and even when he tried—really tried—to make Jared happy, to please him, he couldn’t.

Glass shards on the floor.

Jensen covers his face and rocks and rocks.

When it gets dusky and the house feels chilled, Jensen finally unfolds himself from the rocking chair.  It was his grandmother’s favorite seat and he still feels like a stranger in it, even though she’s been dead all these years.  He keeps expecting to see her standing there, patient, head cocked to the side as if to say, _'have you rocked long enough?'_

Losing himself in chores, in familiar routine, Jensen pushes Jared out of his mind, but he doesn’t stay gone.  He lingers in the corners, dropping Jensen into memory without warning.  Even sweeping the kitchen floor, although there are no shards left, Jensen is drowning in those multi-colored eyes.


	7. Hyacinth

_"Still want to come over for the weekend?" Jensen asked.  Jared blushed three different shades of red, glowing like a night-blooming flower, his eyes darting around with both eagerness and embarrassment._

_"Yeah, of course. Of course I do.  What…yeah."_

_They had been standing at Jensen’s truck, preparing to leave.  All the vendors had packed up; Jensen’s own wares organized neatly in the bed of the truck, covered in canvas.  Saturday.  One night, Jensen knew, surely wouldn’t be enough.  But it felt safer.  A time limit, like Cinderella. It seemed appropriate, for a fantasy._

_Jared had been thrilled when Jensen had broached the subject one week prior._

_Jensen held out his hand.  A small pill was sitting in the palm.  It hadn’t been there long, but Jensen had been sweating enough that there was chalky outline on his skin already, the coating of the pill damp from his nerves and excitement._

_Jared wrinkled his nose.  There had been reluctance in his voice, something Jensen hadn’t ever heard, when he said, "Thanks, but I…I don’t really do drugs."_

_"It’s an antihistamine," Jensen said, biting off each syllable with precision.  He wanted there to be no mistake.  Game on.  Although it hadn't felt like a game.  It felt bigger than that, more exciting, but also more fragile.  Like a puff of air could blow away all his designs._

_"You got a lot of flowers or something?" Jared looked confused. "I can, but I gotta tell you, man, that stuff knocks me out."_

_Of course it does. Of course it does. Jensen knowa this about Jared.  Just as he knows about the broken arm in 5 th grade and the brush with mono Jared’s senior year and every other little detail about Jared’s medical history.  He knows.  Just as he knows that Jared suffers from seasonal allergies, that the ragweed was driving him nuts, making his tip-tilted nose even more pink, reddening his eyes.  Jared couldn't take antihistamines—even the non-drowsy ones make him jittery and forgetful—so he suffered, throat scratchy and nose wet.  He suffered, but not in the way that Jensen would have liked to see him suffer.  Not naked and on his knees, tip-tilted eyes anxiously tracking Jensen’s every move. Jensen let that knowledge fill his eyes, let it show for Jared to see.  He watched the realization come to Jared’s face, his blush deepening._

_"I know it makes you check out," Jensen said.  "You could check out.  If…if you want to.  And I’ll drive you to my place."_

_Jared looked at him, staring steadily.  Like a hunting dog on point, brought to attention by a key word.  Make yourself vulnerable.  Give yourself over to me.  Let me do with you as I will._

_But would he let Jensen take control?_

_Jared dropped his eyes, shy.  His long, pianist fingers reached out, plucking the pill from Jensen’s palm.  Jensen watched the progress—Jared’s fingers drifting up, his lips opening, teeth glistening—until Jared placed the pill in his mouth and took a swig from Jensen’s half empty cup of tea.  He then shook off a shiver: nerves or excitement, Jensen couldn't tell which._

_"So you wake up somewhere, bound," Jensen murmured.  Jerking his eyes up, Jared’s face colored._

_"Okay."_

_"I’ll take care of you."_

_"I-I know you will."_

_"Get in," Jensen ordered.  His first command.  Even though it was too soon for the pill to have kicked in, Jared’s movements were languid, almost dreamlike.  He climbed into the cab of Jensen’s old, blue truck slowly, closing the door with a strange sense of finality.  He stared straight ahead as Jensen climbed into the driver’s side._

_"I’m scared."_

_"Quiet," Jensen responded.  Scared.  Jensen felt a bit scared, too.  On several levels.  This was intimacy at its most intense, when Jensen had always worked so hard to keep people at a distance.  Even more overwhelming was the fear that he'd fail.  They had danced around this, played at it, on a verbal level.  Played only with words and meaningless little tasks.  This was different. By getting in the car, Jared had agreed to give his body over to Jensen._

_"Don’t be scared," Jensen said.  He wasn't not sure who it was directed at.  Suddenly, the realization that the fantasy—his fantasy—was becoming real, sent a cold shiver down his spine.  He looked over at Jared, taking up far too much space in the truck cab, making even the roomiest of spaces seem cozy.  Jared offered up a gentle smile, even as his eyes looked a bit glassy with worry._

_For a moment, Jensen second-guessed his decision.  It had taken months for him to build up the courage, and this morning he had felt confident, sure, but now he faltered.  Jared was so vulnerable.  Jensen had known he wanted this—they both wanted this—but what if Jared changed his mind?  What if he wanted to stop?  Would he say a word?  Jensen thought back to that nameless girlfriend, making Jared jump through hoop after hoop, never satisfied.  What if Jensen asked for too much?_

_"I’m scared, but I’m excited, too," Jared murmured, as if he could read Jensen’s mind.  That had settled it.  Jensen wanted to give this to him.  Everything he'd ever dreamt of, an amazing experience.  The things Jared had been too afraid to reach for, the fantasies that woke him in the night, cock hard and aching.  Everything had been planned, researched, and now the execution.  Jensen could do it.  He won’t fail._

_"I’m excited, too," Jensen said brusquely, thoughts already on what would happen next. "Now quiet.  No words.  Just drift off."_

_"You’re not going to be able to haul me into the house."_

_"You let me worry about that."_

_"Yes, Jensen," Jared said.  He rested his cheek against the cold glass of the truck window.  Jensen started the car.  It was a thirty minute drive, just enough time for Jared to doze off.  It was no magic portal or fantastical abduction, but as an entry into a new world, it would do._


	8. Peony

"Are you seeing him again?" Misha asks and then winces when the ice cream maker slams into his crotch. "Ouch."  He spins the brightly colored plastic ball back across the floor to Jensen.

 

"No. I don't know," Jensen replies testily.  They are sitting on opposite ends of Misha's kitchen floor, rolling the ice cream maker between them.  Jensen shoves the ball violently back at Misha, who only manages just in time to take the brunt of the force with his hands.

 

"Keep this up and I'm going to break out my old metal ice cream maker with the crank.  Make you work out some aggression.  Seriously, calm down.  You're going to break it apart and ruin my hard work."

 

"Sorry," Jensen mutters petulantly, sounding anything but.  Misha sighs, spins the round container around on his palm, then rolls it back to Jensen.

 

"So what was the issue?"

 

"I don't want to talk about it."

 

"Lies! Even if that was true, I'm the only tolerable person you see on a semi-regular basis. Talking to house plants must get old. Where was the disconnect? Didn't like the kind of rope you used to tie him up?"

 

"I'm sorry I ever told you anything," Jensen growls.

 

"Told me? Ha!" Misha crows. "I figured out ninety percent of your secret and you blurted out the rest in a fit of guilt. I'm an observant genius!"

 

"You're an idiot," Jensen retorts but he smiles a tiny bit.

 

"So what was the issue? Allergic to leather and latex? Had an embarrassing safe word? Or wait...don't tell me he wasn't into it, because nobody gives off a 'please get me on my knees and make me call you sir' vibe like that boy."

 

"It was nothing," Jensen mutters.

 

"It was something. You were incommunicado the entire weekend. Was he as submissive as he seemed or what?"

 

"Yes," Jensen admits and he was suddenly drowning in images of Jared. Jared naked and gleaming. Jared crawling on his hands and knees. Jared's back and thighs beaten a sweet, sweet pink.

 

"Jesus, you're blushing. I'd ask for details if I thought you'd indulge me. That good, huh?"

 

"He did everything I asked," Jensen whispers and then felt wretched. Jared had done everything Jensen had ever wanted.

 

But Jensen hadn't always asked.

 

"Shit," Misha moans and adjusts himself a bit in his pants, fingers briefly massaging. He smirks at Jensen's raised brow. "What? It's hot. Sue me."

 

"Pervert."

 

"Got it in one. So spit it out, please. What was the deal breaker?"

 

"He just got out of an abusive relationship."

 

"Oh. So he's not ready to get serious? Wait, are you already serious about him?"

 

"That's not it, exactly," Jensen hedges.

 

"Ugh, you are hurting my brain! I can't fantasize about my hot neighbor having hot sex with his hot new boy-toy if you’re going to bring some stunted emotional mystery into this."

 

"I don't want to abuse him. I don't want him to have more of the same."

 

Misha furrows his brow. "There's nothing abusive about BDSM if you're doing it right."

 

Jensen looks down, unable to meet Misha's gaze.

 

"Man, you own more literature on the subject than the Marquis de Sade. You could not have fucked this up unless you did it on purpose."

 

"It's him," Jensen deflects. "It's like he's asking to be hurt." The words are out of Jensen's mouth before he realizes how wrong they sounded.

 

"Nobody asks to be in an abusive relationship," Misha says seriously.

Jensen looks down at the colorful ball of custard slush cupped between his palms.  Then he shrugs and rolls the ball back to Misha.

"Are you serious?   You’re blaming him for…what?  What happened and…what might happen?  What you might do to him, or what you already have?!  How is somebody hurting him his fault!?"

"I don’t want to hurt him!" Jensen snaps.

"Then don’t.  It’s that simple.  Or don’t you have any self-control?"

Agitated, Misha stands up, ice cream maker in hand.  He bends and rummages around in a cabinet, unearthing a small appliance, then pulls a metal bowl out of the freezer and snaps it into the device.  Opening the ball to pour out the creamy mixture into the metal bowl, he hits a button and the kitchen is filled with a low hum.

"What is that?"

"An ice cream machine," Misha says.  He rests his hands on the counter, his back one long line of accusatory tension, turned away from Jensen.

"Then why the hell do we make it by hand every time I come over?"

Misha whirls around. "I like to!  It’s fun!  But sometimes I want ice cream and you’re in a pissy mood and I get tired making it alone.  So I bought a machine! Sue me!"

They stare at each other for a moment, and then Misha says wearily, "You open up more when your hands are occupied.  I’ve noticed this."

Jensen stares down at his hands.  They are a contrast: smooth and supple from his work with oils and lotions, calloused in places from gardening, neat cut nails, a lye burn on one finger.

"You should get out," Misha says.

“I’m sorry?”

"You should be.  You have someone willing to give you everything.  Someone vulnerable.  That’s a fucking gift, whether you can see it or not.  Anything you do to him is your fault.  I swear to God, if you don’t see it…I don’t know what you did, and I don’t want to know.  If a fucking baby deer walks up to you in the forest, you don’t shoot the deer and then blame it for its innocence!"

"Is somebody a baby deer in this scenario?" Jensen asks lightly, trying for levity.

"Yes," Misha snaps. "That tall, clumsy lunk-head who adores you is Bambi and you’re the fucking hunter who killed Bambi’s mom!  Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Jensen jerks back, stomach sour and sick.

Misha stalks out of the kitchen. "Now leave me alone for a while before I hit you."

**

_"I thought," Jared said hesitantly and Jensen waited patiently for the other man to gather his courage and speak._

_This was one of the delicious rituals they’ve adopted together, subtle reins of control, as Jared tried to breach Jensen’s silence and Jensen made him work for it.  It had been easy enough when it was Jared jabbering on, spinning stories about his day, snapshots of the Jared that Jensen didn't get to see.  Jared’s job as contractor, building or fixing things, making something from nothing or making old, broken things new again.  It was the Jared that easily commanded his team with effortless leadership, not a hint of the tentative, careful man that Jensen saw on the weekends._

_"I thought," Jared repeated, having cycled through_ shy-hopeful-uncertain-hopeful _before gathering his courage again. "I thought we could go to dinner."_

_"Dinner?"  It was not exactly unexpected.  There were courtship rituals when it came to romance, conventional things that people did when they wanted to be together.  Two weeks prior, Jared had brought Jensen a bouquet of flowers, face a little pink with embarrassment._ It’s what you do, right? _Jared had asked that day, navigating his first same-sex relationship, looking for approval, completely unaware that it was Jensen’s first relationship ever.  He doesn’t have the script, of what to do, how to behave, not that he would ever admit it.  It’s too intoxicating, having Jared look to him for guidance._

_The bouquet had been overly large and ornate, florid and showy.  All the flower buds straining open, gaping lewdly like overblown sex organs.  Jensen had been tempted to make a joke, just to see Jared’s face heat up.  Or to tap each blossom with a finger and to name the meaning of each flower; some of the ones in the bouquet are quite inappropriate for a lover’s gift.  The words had died, however, when Jensen had seen Jared hunch as if waiting to be struck, and he had remembered the peonies Jared’s ex-girlfriend rejected. Did Jared learn his lesson, or if Jensen asked, would he have been back again the next day with an even larger bouquet?_

_"Beautiful," Jensen had murmured, but he had been looking in Jared’s eyes when he said it.  It had been an unscripted moment, just what he had been feeling, said without plan or thought.  Jared’s face had lit up, dimples creasing his cheeks, and Jensen had been glad, even though he felt out of control and flustered at revealing so much of himself._

_"Yes, dinner," Jared said patiently and Jensen jerked his mind back to the here and now. "That’s something that people do.  Go on a date.  Right?"_

_"Are we dating?" Jensen asked coolly, but Jared just smiled wider._

_"C’mon, man," Jared coaxed, almost wriggling with excitement like a puppy. "What do you say?"_

_Closing his eyes for a moment, Jensen considered it.  The scenario that came into his mind had been absurdly romantic.  White table cloths and black tuxedos.  Red roses on all the table tops.  Classical music and witty conversation and how could either of them belong there?  Jared, gawky and loud and enthusiastic, in his ugly plaid, and Jensen in his chambray shirt and jeans, feeling awkward.  Restaurants mean talking to other people, making decisions about food and wine.  Jensen doesn't know about any of that. Ignorance doesn’t make anyone look powerful and in control._

_For a moment, a wisp of an idea floated its way through Jensen’s mind.  He saw himself, aloof, mute, gliding through the restaurant.  A snap of his fingers and Jared was scurrying beside him, one pace behind, looking desirable and vulnerable in the candlelight.  They would sit and Jensen only needed to cock an eyebrow for Jared to hurriedly pick up the menu, to read the offerings, watching Jensen’s face for a subtle nod ‘yes’ or  shake ‘no’.  Jared would do all the ordering because Jensen commanded it, and he wanted to be pleasing.  It might work._

_Or it might be a disaster._

_"No dinner," Jensen said finally, opening his eyes.  He watched hope fall right off Jared’s face.  He wouldn't argue though, or try to fight for what he wanted.  Sometimes it made Jensen want to shake him._

_"Okay."_

_"Maybe you could pick us up some things for lunch sometime," Jensen said after a moment, and Jared grinned unabashedly. "A picnic."_

_"What do you like?" Jared asked eagerly and Jensen tried out the eyebrow arch, watching Jared blush._

_"Surprise me."_


	9. Hydrangea

"Hi," Jared says quietly. 

He hasn’t been at the farmer’s market in weeks.  Jensen had moved from pretending not to be looking for him to openly searching the crowds, to hiding his despair at the idea of never seeing Jared again.  Now Jared stands in front of Jensen’s stand, big and broad and even more tanned than ever, sturdy as a tree. That raw, agonized look Jensen had seen in his eyes on their last, terrible day isn’t there.  He’s not hunched in on himself, cowering, slapped down by Jensen’s precise, brutal words.  No, he’s still and calm, shoulders back and brow smooth.  It looks like it would take an army to smash Jared down, but the truth is Jensen was able to do it without raising a hand.

Jensen had first spotted Jared down the row, standing with Misha, deep in conversation.  Pretending not to notice had turned into staring and desperate lip-reading until Jensen hadn’t even been trying to play it cool any more.  He had been like a child, turned out in the cold, nose mashed to a windowpane, staring into a warm, locked house.  A stranger and a trespasser. Misha had finally pressed a piece of paper into Jared’s hands, clapped him on one big shoulder, and then turned back to his honey jars.  Then, Jared had slowly rambled over.

"No tea?" Jensen asks, then mentally kicks himself.    His voice is carefree and light and still cruel in the face of vulnerability. Fuck, he doesn’t know how to do this.

"I’ll get you some later if you like," Jared says, as if no time has passed and nothing dark and painful has happened between them. "Wasn’t sure if you’d talk to me."

"Don’t.  I mean, I’m in the wrong here.  You shouldn’t be getting me tea."

"I like getting you tea," Jared responds calmly.

So open, so vulnerable.  Still no shields.  Jensen searches around desperately for a distraction. "What did Misha give you?"

"It’s a brochure about domestic violence," Jared answers and Jensen feels sick.  Jared un-creases the paper and holds it up, but when Jensen doesn’t take it he shrugs and folds it back up.  He tucks it into his back pocket. "He said he does some volunteer work, hotline stuff.  I think he’s got the wrong idea. Did…did you tell him about us?"

"What if I did?" Jensen answers coldly.  Testing, pushing back, still trying to gauge Jared’s limits.  Terrifying, the idea that he might have none.

Jared blushes, that same sweet, vulnerable, petal pink.  Then he says in a small voice, "That was private."

Nothing in Jared’s life is kept private, Jensen thinks nastily, exasperated.  Now would be the time to really drive the knife home.  Crow about all the ways he’s had Jared, who he’s told.  Humiliate him.

Hell, that still might not be enough.

"Don’t," Jared blurts suddenly.

"Don’t what?"

"I can see you gearing up, thinking of how you can hurt me.  Don’t. Don’t lie to me.  I can tell, you know."

Jensen scoffs. "You think you have killer instincts, now?"

"You’re mouth gets tight when you lie," Jared insists.  "Tight and mean.  You were lying a little bit that day back when you dumped me.  Lying and telling the truth at the same time."

"Jared."

"I shouldn’t have let you drive me away."

"I didn’t tell Misha anything really," Jensen answers, hedging away from the emotional discomfort, the raw, stripped feeling Jared is creating between them. "I mean, he figured both of us out.  What we’re like.  He knows what I’m…into.  He knows you came over.  But I didn’t tell him exactly what we did together."

"Thanks.  Thank you."  Jared looks pitifully relieved, his privacy intact. Then confused. "So why did he give me the paper?"

"He thinks I hurt you."

"You didn’t," Jared insists.  He’s being obtuse, Jensen thinks.  Or maybe his tolerance for such things is just that high.

"I did.  I hurt you."

"Yeah," Jared breathes. "But not _that_ way."

"I could have."  And there it is.  Jensen remembers being flushed with power, with lust, dark impulses rearing up in his mind, trampling his control.  Sweet and furled open on the floor, Jared would have let him do anything. 

It was a fantasy.  Jensen knows now, the two of them never would have worked.  He would have slipped up, crossed a line.  Trusting and weak, Jared would have let him.

There’s an ugly pause, silence creeping in where truth should lie and Jensen swallows down his useless apologies, his angry recriminations.  He’s not sure who he’s really mad at, what he’s really sorry for.  A few pretty words and he could probably win Jared back.  It wouldn’t be hard.

If he wanted to, he could hurt Jared as much as he wanted, as often as he wanted.  Exorcise all those dark desires. Jared wouldn’t stop him.

"Look, I think I get it," Jared says suddenly into the silence. "You’re scared."

Jensen snorts. "Someone has to be."

"Look, you think I don’t know what I’m like?" Jared says ruefully. "I know what I’m like."

"You would just let me hurt you!" Jensen snaps, control shredded. "You wouldn’t stop me."

"No.  You’d have to stop yourself," Jared answers honestly.

"And if I didn’t? Couldn’t?"

"I trusted you.  I _trust_ you."

"You shouldn’t."

"We did it wrong," Jared insists.  He reaches out and takes Jensen’s hand.  His palm is softer than before, and a puff of lemon scent rises up from the warmth of their combined grip.

"Still using it, I see."

"Love it," Jared says but his eyes say _I love you_.

"I did everything you wanted," Jensen answers, voice rough and bleak.

"No.  No, you didn’t," Jared says kindly but Jensen remembers it much differently.

**

_"Tell me a fantasy," Jensen commanded._

_They had fallen into this game more and more, and Jensen found it to be heady.  Small, subtle orders that Jared would follow gamely, nose and cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment, tongue swiping his lower lip with unconscious desire._ Do this, do that, tell me the truth _.  Jared had bent quickly under Jensen’s directives._

_It was both light and intense.  But Jensen had rarely asked for information.  He really didn’t have to; stories came spilling out of Jared’s mouth rapid-fire.  Jensen felt like he knew the other man inside and out, as if he had been flayed open, the moments of his life a series of golden eggs tumbling out of somewhere deep inside Jared’s bowels, a fairy tale spell between them._

_All his mysteries unraveled and laying in Jensen’s hands._

_Jared squirmed.  His hand drifted towards his crotch, to the faded denim cupping the bulge of his growing erection.  Big boy.  Jensen let his eyes flicker down, let Jared see him watching.  The taller man flushed pink, sweat beading along his brow, but he hadn’t shifted his eyes away._

_"Shy?" Jensen asked, a bit derisively.  Jared grinned at that._

_"Not shy.  Just private about some things."_

_Jensen snorted quietly.  Jared was a talker.  Jensen already knew about Jared’s ex-girlfriend’s preferred sexual positions._

_As if he could tell what Jensen was thinking, Jared flushed even darker and said, "This matters.  Other things, they aren’t important.  This matters."_

_Startled into understanding, Jensen stopped smirking.  He understood.  He felt the same way.  This was a part of himself he hadn’t shared with anyone.  Granted, he didn’t share much of anything with anyone, locked down and locked up tight.  And now, he was opening up to Jared, in his own stilted, constipated way.  He’d let Jared see more of his secret self than anyone else, often without saying more than a few words._

_"Tell me."  A command.  A plea.  Soft and generous._

_"I want…I want….I can’t."_

_"Tell me a story," Jensen suggested. "Tell me about Charlton Heston."_

_Jared snorted but Jensen leaned forward, crowding into Jared’s space.  He created a bubble of intimate control just with the subtle shift of his body.  Jared responded, settled.  Opened his mouth to spill all his hungers._

_"So there’s this guy…"_

_"Yes?"_

_"He wakes up.  He’s been taken." Jared’s voice was dark and deep and building with his excitement. "He’s tied up.  Helpless.  Can’t see.  Can’t really move.  And there’s this other guy…this other guy.  He’s in charge.  He’s got…cruel hands.  He tells me what to do, but mostly he just takes.  Takes what he wants.  If he wants to hit me, he hits me.  If he wants to touch me, reward me, he does.  I can’t get away and after a while I don’t want to."  Jared’s voice faded away, his breaths loud and panting._

_"Hm," Jensen said, sounding disapproving.  Jared’s face crumpled a bit, then he licked his lips, eyes on Jensen.  Resolute, it seemed, in his desire to please. "Do better."_

_"O-okay," Jared said.  He comically looked left and right, as if expecting a horde of eavesdroppers to descend upon them.  There was no one.  Just the two of them and the fresh wind and the bright, blue sky._

_"I’m waiting."_

_"Sorry."_

_"You should be," Jensen said, each word spaced and precise, and only when he closed his mouth did he realized how pompous he sounded.  Perhaps it was too much, the thrill of power making him seem foolish. But Jared ducked his head and blushed, so regardless of how ridiculous Jensen sounded, he was still game.  And maybe that added silliness, well, maybe it had given Jared courage._

_"Fine. I—I’m a sailor. And my ship is taken by pirates.  I struggle, but they knock me out."_

_"Of course," Jensen murmured.  God, he could see it.  Jared, tight breeches and billowing white shirt—torn at the shoulder—struggling in the grip of cold-eyed men.  His feet skidding across the deck in sleek boots—no, Jensen decides, Jared has been roused from sleep.  He was barefoot, the delicate bones of his feet shifting under his skin as he struggled, tantalizingly vulnerable._

_"I wake up, bound. Um, rope, really strong.  I don’t know where I am.  Until the pirate captain walks in.  He…he has green eyes."_

_It was ridiculous to preen, but Jensen couldn't help the smile creeping around the corners of his mouth.  He very much wanted to be central to Jared’s fantasies.  He wanted to be the name Jared cried out at night when he got off, spewing into his hand, alone in his bed, wishing for more._

_"I’m tied up.  I can’t really move, get away.  I’m at his mercy.  He can do with me what he likes, and he has a long, torturous night planned.  But first, he wants to punish me."_

_"Because you defied him," Jensen said._

_"Yes.  And because…because it makes him hot.  He likes it. He has a…a, this flogger.  He’s merciless.  He whips me all over.  Everywhere I’m vulnerable."_

_"Through your clothes?" Jensen asked coolly._

_Jared blushed again. "No. He—he had his men strip me.  I wake up naked and bound, on the floor of the captain’s cabin.  Then he teaches me a lesson.  So I’ll never defy his will again.  So that I can’t run, I can’t get away.  Because he wants me to learn that after a while, I won’t want to."_

_"No, I don’t suppose you would want to get away," Jensen answered and Jared squirmed with red-faced shame.  His hand drifted to the front of his jeans again, but it only took the quirk of Jensen’s brow to send his hand scuttling back to tightly grip his knee._

_"I’m…I’m blindfolded," Jared continued and doubt crept into the low thrum of his voice, some hesitation.  Jensen could have pressed him, pull out more, but he wanted Jared to talk.  In his mind he was in that cabin, on the ship, clad in his own puffy blouse and tight pants, rakish captain’s hat perched on his head._

_"How do you know it’s even him?" Jensen asked derisively and Jared looked up now, met Jensen’s eyes with steady conviction._

_"Because I’d know him anywhere," Jared said steadily. "The sound of his voice commanding me.  The smell of him, as he leans close to torture me.  I can feel him, even when he’s standing apart from me, just watching, no words.  Like a chain between us, keeping me tied to him at all times."_

_Pleasure and possessiveness rushed through Jensen, whiting out his vision. He closed his eyes, let his breath out in a gusty exhale.  It was enough, Jared’s words, to make him come right here and now, bent over a picnic table, dick lurching in his pants.  He dug his fingernails into the table, felt the sharp shaft of a splinter worm its way under one fingernail._

_This was farther than they’d ever gone before.  Opening his eyes, Jensen saw Jared watching him, that sinful mouth slick and open, surprised perhaps, by Jensen’s response.  Straightening up, Jensen tried on a scowl and watched Jared’s face once again become uncertain.  Jensen is the one who’s supposed to be in control, unflappable, unaffected.  Showing doubt, uncertainty, was a mistake._

_"I-I was that okay?"_

_"Yes," Jensen muttered and Jared’s face brightened a bit, although he still looked wary, that ‘kicked dog’ expression. "Keep going."_

_"Oh, I don’t know," Jared hedged and Jensen could kick himself for losing control.  It was a delicious tale Jared was spinning, reeling him in, and now they’re both floundering a bit, spun out of sync with each other._

_"I think you do," Jensen said and then because Jared seemed to need it. "You were doing so well."_

_It was the right thing to say.  Like a flower turning towards the sun, Jared’s shoulders straightened at the meager praise._  It takes so little _, Jensen thought,_ to please this man _.  It should take more.  He shouldn’t be so satisfied with crumbs._

_"He…he takes me.  Fucks me.  Flat on my back with him looming over me, so I can’t pretend it isn’t happening.  And I want it, God I want it." Jared’s deep voice was shaky as he stumbled over the words, still uncertain, still embarrassed._

_"Good."_

_"Do you…do you have any fantasies?" Jared asked meekly.  He looked hopeful._

_It wouldn’t take much for Jensen to add his take to the story.  To elaborate and expand upon Jared’s bodice-ripper pirate yarn, or to change the setting and the characters, make it exciting and new.  He could see it all unfolding in his head, but when he parted his lips to speak, the words didn’t come.  The pause between them stretched into silence, Jared squirming on the bench across from him, big hands clasped together earnestly._

_"Yes," Jensen said finally, brusquely.  It was all he said._

_It was enough.  Jared gave him a grin that’s blinding_

**

"We did it wrong," Jared repeats. "I told you a fantasy.  What if I told you I jerked off to the idea of being gangbanged?  Would you have arranged a group of guys to pound me?"

"I don’t know that many people," Jensen answers weakly.

"That’s not the point," Jared says sharply.

"What is the point?" Jensen snaps, feeling wildly out of control. "You would have let me!  If I’d brought a bunch of guys in to rape you, you would have let me!"

Jared stares at Jensen for a moment, watches him pant and shiver. He rubs a tired hand across his forehead. "You know, my ex never laid a finger on me.  Not once.  She still hurt me."

"Of course she did"

"The point is, I could have taken the blindfold off.  My hands were tied, but not that tightly.  I could have fought back.  But even more importantly, I could have said something.  I could have told you to stop.  You would have."

"You know that for a fact?"

"Yes. I know you.  If I had told you to stop, you would have stopped."

Jensen cuts his eyes away, feeling them water.  Trust.  Unjustified trust.  Jensen can’t believe in any of it.  He can’t believe that Jared would ever say 'no'.  And he can’t believe that even if Jared had, that Jensen would have listened.

"I should have told you to stop," Jared continues and it’s a knife in Jensen’s heart.  Jared trusted and Jensen betrayed him. 

"Because I hurt you."

"What?  No!  Because we didn’t talk about it.  Me telling you some hot fantasy doesn’t count.  Fantasy isn’t reality.  We should have sat down and planned it out, worked it out.  I was so excited when you made it happen for me, that I didn’t think.  I was swept away by the excitement of it all. I didn’t think about how you would feel."  Jared reaches out, and Jensen numbly lets him grip his shoulder, warm and comforting. "I’m sorry."

" _You’re_ sorry?"

"Yes."

"You.  You’re…you’re the one apologizing?!  Everything was my fault!"

"No.  You took control.  It was what I wanted.  But you couldn’t check in—"

"I could!"

"You couldn’t!" Jared insists. "It was part of the fantasy.  There I was having a great time, but you were afraid.  I’m right, aren’t I?  It was scary?"

He’s right, but Jensen snorts to hide his discomfort, adding an eye roll for good measure.  Jared watches him steadily, one eyebrow cocked, not fooled for a moment.

"Were you afraid?" Jared’s voice is soft.

"No," Jensen growls.

"I think maybe you think I’m a bit of an idiot," Jared says matter-of-factly. "And maybe that’s more of a deal-breaker for me than you giving me everything I want and then trying to destroy me.  I’m not.  I’m not dumb just because I’m a happy person, an open person.  And you’re not some mystery no one can crack just because you’re a grump.  You want brutal honesty?  You live alone, Jen, and you don’t seem to have any friends.  You don’t have any stories for me about asshole exes or sex acts gone wrong not because you’re a private person but because you just don’t have any.  None.  Tell me I’m wrong.  Tell me about your rich personal life that I somehow don’t know about because you know when and how to shut your mouth!"

Panting a bit, Jared cuts his eyes away.  Jensen looks away as well, his eyes searching for something to land on.  He sees Misha standing at his stall, watching the exchange.  That judgmental glare he’s been leveling at Jensen for the past few weeks is gone.  His blue eyes are soft, concerned, his body tense, as if he’s about to step towards them to intervene. Fuck, how loudly have they been arguing?

Jared is now watching Misha as well. "He’s worried about you."

"He thinks I’m a monster," Jensen says softly and as he does he realizes _he_ believes it.  Monstrous, these hungers he has.  The things he wants to do.  How powerful he can feel when Jared is beneath him, naked and aching, bent to his hand.

"He doesn’t.  We don’t.  There’s nothing wrong with you, with us. You and me."

"I could have hurt you," Jensen whispers and suddenly, humiliatingly, he’s crying.  He wants to get up, storm away, protect himself, but Jared is there, gathering him up.  Jensen is not a small man, but his face is buried in a wall of warm flannel, Jared’s scent in his nose, Jared’s arms around him.  Jensen struggles half-heartedly and Jared gently tightens his arms and yes, he could have defended himself.  Jared could have fought back.  He’s a physically powerful man.

"You could have," Jared admits, softly. "I would have let you.  I wasn’t thinking about it.  You put everything on you, Jen.  I was trusting you to do that and that wasn’t fair.  We both have to know it’s safe.  Next time, we’ll do it right."

Rubbing his wet nose against Jared’s ugly plaid shirt, Jensen swallows a laugh. "Next time?"

"Yes.  I want to try again.  I want you.  Don’t you still want me?"  God, everything out in the open and vulnerable.  How does Jared live like this, so raw and cracked open?

"How…how do you know?  How do you know you’ll be safe?"

Jared sighs.  He rocks a bit, Jensen in his arms, and Jensen realizes this is their first hug.  Somewhere, out of Jensen’s reach, is a script for these things.  The progression of a relationship, the paint-by-numbers approach to intimacy. The way other people live.  He’s sucked Jared off and whipped him and caned him, coloring outside the lines, his paints in colors few other people use.

"I am who I am," Jared says quietly. "I know what I’m like.  I’m not going to change, not easily.  Hell, and I’m not asking you to change either.  We have these weak spots.  I might get hurt.  I’m used to it."

"I don’t want that," Jensen says honestly. "I don’t want to hurt you."

"So don’t," Jared says, as if it’s that simple.  And maybe it is.  Here, held tight in Jared’s arms, Jensen can almost believe it. "You know everything about me.  Everything.  Big mouth, remember.  You know how to hurt me.  So don’t.  Don’t do it."


	10. Queen Anne's Lace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW art at the end of the chapter.

"Whatever you want," Jared whispers breathily.  He’s face down on Jensen’s floor again, hips raised, thighs open.  His ass is red, tiny pinpricks of violet behind the flush.  Resting his cheek on the crisp surface of a white sheet—Jensen still hasn’t vacuumed the living room—he keeps his eyes closed, lashes fluttering.  It took some effort, but Jared finally admitted that he didn’t care to be blindfolded.

"Try again," Jensen says sternly, grateful that Jared can’t see his trembling hands.  It’s this moment—both the best and the worst—that Jensen fears and craves. _'Whatever you want'_ sends deliciously dark fantasies shivering through Jensen’s skull, all the things he desires, untampered by another’s will.  He’s flush with power after spanking Jared—hand hot and throbbing with the beat of his heart—but now his gut lurches.

"It’s…it’s hard to say."

"Tell me now or we stop," Jensen orders.

"Fuck me," Jared breathes, tongue sneaking out to wet his lips. "Fuck me.  That’s what I want.   That’s what I’ve always wanted."

A direct request.  It should dissipate the butterflies flapping frantically in Jensen’s stomach.  What Jared wants.  He isn’t lying.

Jensen is on his knees behind Jared almost before he knows it, hands gripping Jared’s hips.  He looks his fill: that dark pink opening, a flower furl, wet and glistening from their earlier play.  It would be easy enough to slide in, make Jared moan from the burn.  Jensen blinks, blackness growing behind his eyes.

"Tell me.  Tell me…"

"Quiet," Jensen orders hoarsely.  He takes himself in hand, dick blood-hot and jerking in his palm. So ready.

"I want…"

"Hush."

He presses the tip to Jared’s opening, watching the rim spread open to receive the head of his cock, tight and hot around him.  Jensen stifles a growl, teeth digging into his lower lip.

_"Lavender."_

At the use of Jared’s safe word, Jensen jerks back, stung.  A sob tears from his mouth before he can stop it.  He wheels away on his knees, shoulders hunched, averting his face.

There’s the heavy stumble of Jared rising—still limp-limbed and clumsy from drifting in his haze of pleasure—then a tentative hand is gripping Jensen’s bare shoulder.

"Sorry," Jensen mutters roughly.

"Sorry for what?"  Jared’s voice is slurred but gentle.

"I…I hurt you."

"Didn’t.  You didn’t hurt me."

"You told me to stop," Jensen says, and realizing it, feels calmer.  They have practiced this, Jared using his word, in simple mundane tasks.  It had been so difficult; Jared’s face both agonized and mutinous as he’d admitted something as simple as the fact that he didn’t care for mayonnaise on his French fries.  Silly games about choice, games which had become serious when Jared had struggled against his desire to please Jensen by mirroring the other man’s preferences.

Trust, Jensen realizes.  He still hadn’t trusted Jared to use it.  Not because he might get lost in the freefall of pleasure, not because the line between pain and ecstasy, good and bad, might blur and melt together.

No, because Jared wants to please his lover at his own expense.  In some ways he wants to please everyone, the world entire.  The amount of hurt Jared might take to please Jensen overwhelms him sometimes.

"You told me to stop," Jensen repeats carefully.

Grinning dopily, Jared massages Jensen’s shoulder with one strong hand.  He says, "You have a tell."

"A tell?"

“You were scared.”

"You stopped because I was scared?"  He had been, Jensen realizes.  He had been scared.  He feels his spine automatically stiffen.  This is the part that’s hard for him to admit.  Jared wants to please and Jensen, well, Jensen wants perfection.  He wants to be this fearless pillar of low-voiced, confident command.  It seems unsexy somehow, to need to stop, to need a break.  To admit to weakness.

"You order me to stop talking.  That’s your tell.  That’s how I know.  So, what are you afraid of?"

Jensen frowns. "Hurting you."

"You’re not."

"No." Jensen flushes in embarrassment. "I don’t want to hurt you when I…"

"Oh."  Jared considers this with the exaggerated gravity of a drunk person, still soaring on pleasure. "You might.  It might hurt.  Neither of us really _know_ what we’re doing."

"I don’t want it to hurt."

"Losing your virginity isn’t usually a cakewalk.  It might hurt.  But I promise, I promise, Jensen, if it’s too much I’ll stop you.  I won’t let it be that kind of pain."

"I want it to be perfect," Jensen blurts and Jared grins.  He cranes his long neck to press a wet kiss to Jensen’s throat, making him shiver.

"It will be.  Even if it’s not, it will be perfect.  Okay?"

"O-okay."

"Good."  Jared turns around, presents himself on hands and knees.  He arches his back like some great cat and murmurs, "Like yesterday."

"Bossy."

"Fuck me."

"Don’t be rude," Jensen says and he follows it up with a flurry of smacks to Jared’s already abused ass.  True to form, Jared writhes with each slap, moaning appreciatively.

"Spread," Jensen orders and smacks the inside of Jared’s thighs, forcing his legs farther apart. "Very nice. Good boy."

"Oh. Again."

"Good boy."

Jensen listens to Jared purr with pleasure at the words.  A litany of praise would drive Jared higher and higher, but Jensen’s never been that good with words.  It seems more natural to exist in the susurration of sighs or the thunder of slaps, words slipping in between the other sounds.  Speech as rare as jewels.

For such a chatty person, Jared isn’t much noisier than Jensen in bed.  Perhaps it’s like entering a place of worship, somewhere holy and reflective.  Regardless of who you are, you doff your cap and quiet your voice.  Give the experience the respect it deserves.

"Fuck me," Jared moans and Jensen smiles.  Pets his fingers over the ruddy wetness of Jared’s hole, enjoying the texture of slippery skin.  He lets one finger drift up and smooth along the furrow between Jared’s cheeks, dampening those little curls of hair.  Then he lines up and presses inside, watching the spread, sinking inside the heat.

"Oh…ah!"

"You can take it," Jensen says, pressing in slowly.  He can see Jared’s face resting on the floor, that flushed cheek and bitten lip.  Those dark brows are tense, but not crinkled in pain.

"Feels…huge."

"Now you’re just flattering me."

"Please…"

"Slower?"

"Yes."

"Say it," Jensen commands.

"Slow…God, slower please."

"Good boy."

It’s difficult, to wait.  Jensen imagined sex would be lush, steamy, a place to luxuriate in sensations.  It doesn’t feel like that.  Jared is tight, tight around his dick, and it’s hard, so terribly hard, not to shove inside.  There’s little control in the act, just an animal need.  Jensen exists between his breathes, counting silently, holding on.

"Now," Jared whispers and Jensen swallows a sob of relief and lifts his hips, glides all the way in, until he’s flush with Jared, skin to skin.  As close as they can get to each other.

"I’m inside you," Jensen says, voice filled with awe.

"Sap," Jared teases, then squeaks when Jensen growls and snaps his hips.  Something else is lightly said, perhaps a joke or a half-hearted apology, but Jensen doesn’t hear it.  His vision has tunneled down, everything awash in a haze of red.  He has to rut and he has to fuck and he snaps his hips, hands digging into Jared’s hips.  He fucks and fucks, working himself hard, nearly snarling under his breath.  Everything builds and builds until he’s groaning his release, forehead buried in the wet satin skin of Jared’s back, whole body shivering with the force of his orgasm.

Jared.  _Jared._

"Oh God," Jensen mutters, coming back to himself.  He’s been pummeling Jared’s ass, completely lost in his own pleasure, out of control and nearly insensible. Beneath him, he can hear Jared whimpering, almost too soft to hear.

"Are…are you all right?"

"Please…please…" 

Jared is writhing, ass jerking and humping.  For a moment Jensen feels a deep shame, terror chasing away the pleasure, until he looks at Jared’s face.  The other man’s cheeks are blotchy and wet, his mouth open and panting.  It isn’t pain, but desire.

"Please…"

Reaching down, Jensen finds Jared’s dick, hard and tight-skinned and leaking.  He wraps his hand around it, tugs from root to tip as inexpertly as a teenager, and Jared shouts and comes all over his hand.

"Oh," Jared breathes, thighs quivering.  Jensen pulls out slowly—drawing a legitimate wince from Jared’s face—and then they collapse together, side by side on the floor, the sheet beneath them absorbing the wetness from their exertions, creating a shroud imprinted in sweat and lube and come.

Jared turns his head and smiles into Jensen’s face, relaxed and happy.  They’re so close Jensen can feel the moist puffs of Jared’s breath against his chin.

"Was it good?" Jensen asks hoarsely.

Jared nods then says impishly, "We don’t have to talk about it."

"No.  Not now."

"I liked how you lost control."

Jensen groans, squirming a bit in shame and regret. "I thought we weren’t going to talk about it."

"Were you scared?"

"Then? No.  Now? I don’t like what I did."

"I liked what you did." Jared voice thrums with satisfaction.

"Hmph."

"Using me for your pleasure.  Rutting in me like you’re an animal."

"Oh God, shut up," Jensen moans, but he needs this. He needs Jared telling him he's done no harm.

"Okay. But Jensen?"

"What?"

"Even if you do…hurt me sometime…by accident?  Please don’t let it be the end of the world.  We can still talk about it, work around it.  Intent is more important than what you do, at least to me.  I don’t want to be shut out again. Can you promise that?"

It sounds lovely to Jensen.  Forgiveness, not for cruelty, but for being human, for getting lost in the moment.  Always a place to say sorry and start anew.

"If I agree will you be quiet?"

"Yes."

"Then yes," Jensen agrees and he rolls into Jared, tucks in close to his side, head nestled under the other man's chin.  His fear has drained away.  They made it through, Jensen trusting enough to let go, knowing that even if he faltered, even if it wasn’t perfect, it would be okay.  They both cared too much for it to be otherwise.


	11. Forget-Me-Not

This time, there is no stormy aftermath.  Jared isn’t forced out, hurt and abandoned, the victim of Jensen’s insecurities.  This time Jared stays.

They sit on the porch swing and watch the sun come up, rocking slowly together.  Jensen goes into the house at one point and makes breakfast, which they eat as they sway, plates balanced on their knees. Instead of declaring it perfect, Jared half-heartedly complains about the lack of bacon.  They’re making progress.

"Do you need to go home?" Jensen asks softly after they eat, head tucked against Jared’s warm, bare shoulder.

"I can stay."

"What do you need to do?" Jensen demands, voice a bit sharper, but this is important.  Honesty in all things. Jared laughs, dimples flashing, cheeks a bit pink with being caught in his old habit.

"Laundry. Call my mom.  Nothing terribly pressing, I promise.  I can stay."

"You can help me then," Jensen says and Jared grins, sunny and bright, teeth white against his tan skin. "I have tomato sauce I need to put up."

"Gonna show me all your secrets?"

"You already know all my secrets," Jensen grumps. "It’s canning.  Canning isn’t hard."

Inside the house, Jensen shows Jared how to fill clean mason jars with sauce, how to seal the lids and place them in boiling water.  They work together, hands bumping and tangling, a dance.

"Interesting," Jared says mysteriously as he spoons tomato sauce into a clear mason jar.  A splash of sauce spatters his finger, little bloom of red, and he bends his head to suck the finger into his mouth.  A spot of crimson glistens on Jared’s lower lip and Jensen stares at it, mesmerized.

"W-what?"

"I said, it’s interesting." Jared’s pink tongue tip chases the drop of sauce away and Jensen blinks rapidly.

"What’s interesting?"

"I’ve never had anyone teach me how to do something and almost not say a word of instruction.  It’s like you’re more comfortable showing me than telling me."

Flushing, Jensen thinks back.  Jared’s right.  It was easier to simply reach out, fingers braceleting Jared’s wrist, and just direct him where to pour and stir and scoop.

Just the way he himself learned.

 He has a sensory memory, suddenly, of another hand holding his own wrist.  Rough palmed but tender, a thick silver ring on the index finger.  Hard working hands, never soft or delicate, but always purposeful in their grip.

"I guess you’re right," Jensen says.  There are more secrets, more pieces of himself Jensen hasn’t revealed.  In some ways, more intensely private than his desire to dominate Jared. He says slowly, "My grandmother taught me. She didn’t speak."

"She didn’t speak? At all?"

Jensen shrugs.  Didn’t or couldn’t or wouldn’t?  He had never known.  He remembered being a child, babbling incessantly, his words met with only the arch of an unamused eyebrow.  Words had seemed, to his grandmother, unnecessary, and so words had fallen away from Jensen as well, until silence had seemed more natural.

"When I was a child and I cried," Jensen said softly, "She would pick me up and put me in her rocking chair.  She would then push on the rockers with her foot and set it moving.  Then she would walk away."

"She left you there crying?" Jared’s appalled voice and face hide nothing.  For a moment, Jensen indulges in the vision of Jared with a child.  He sees the squalling tyke lifted up, cradled and coddled, Jared’s deep voice soothing and teasing, trying to tug out a smile.  Perhaps there would be offering of toys and ice cream and endless, endless touch.

"She wasn’t mean," Jensen says simply.  And it’s true.  His grandmother was many things.  She was taciturn and in many ways closed off.  But she was never cruel, her hands reaching out to patiently show Jensen everything he’s ever known.

"I hate being alone when I’m sad."

"I think she preferred it.  I don’t think she knew any other way to be."

"I’m not sure I could leave you alone if you were crying," Jared says, brow creased.  Jensen smiles.

"You can gather me up and bring me ice cream."

There’s a brisk rap on the back screen door and Jensen goes to answer it.  Misha is standing there on the porch, a plastic bin tucked under his arm.  His blue eyes hold a type of wariness Jensen hasn’t seen in a while.  The last time Misha looked so unsure, they had just met.  Misha had just bought his place, the little spread next door, and come over to meet his new neighbor.  Jensen had been too surprised by the spontaneous visit to be anything other than surly and abrupt.  Now that he thinks on it, he might always be surly and abrupt.  Misha is just that good at pushing his way into people’s lives and saving them from their own loneliness.

"Good morning," Misha says cautiously.

"Morning."

"Look," Misha blurts, his words rushing fast and nervous, "I’m sorry.  I’m really, very sorry.  It’s none of my business and I misunderstood—"

"Hi, Misha."  Jensen doesn’t have to look to know that Jared has come out beside him.  He can feel warmth, both from the bared flesh of Jared’s torso and the kindness of his voice. "We’re canning.  Do you want to come in?"

"Hi," Misha says, flustered.  His eyes drop and focus in, much, much lower than where Jared’s eyes are.

"Stop staring at my boyfriend’s tits," Jensen growls, but there’s no heat behind his words. 

"Fine.  Then make him take off his pants," Misha quips and Jared roars with laughter.

"What’s in the bin?" Jared asks, eyes bright with interest and Misha holds it out.  Inside, a container of sloshing custard nestles next to Misha’s ice cream ball.

"Sometimes," Misha says, and his eyes cut over to Jensen carefully, "sometimes Jensen and I make ice cream.  Have you ever made ice cream by hand?"

"Oh man, I used one of those crank ones before, when I was a kid.  Made my arm ache."

"Well this one you just roll," Misha says. "It takes a while, but it’s easier than the old crank ones.  With three people it will go faster."

"I love ice cream! I had some of yours before."

"Ooh, which one?  You know Jensen has a veritable hoard of flavors—"

"Fine," Jensen says, interrupting Misha’s bonding with Jared. "Jared, will you pull the last of the sauce jars out of the water?"

"Sure."

Jensen watches as Jared disappears back into the kitchen.  Then he narrows his eyes and says, "Why didn’t you bring over your electric one?"

"I saw his car," Misha says, smirking unrepentantly. "My mind ran wild all night, imagining what you two were up to.  I figured if I got us all sitting on the floor making ice cream you’d tell me some interesting stories."

"If you’d brought the crank one," Jensen says archly, "we could have sat around on the porch and watched Jared turn the crank with his shirt off."

"Oh man," Misha moans, smiling. "Why didn’t I think of that?"

Jensen smiles back.  Then he says, "Misha, it’s okay."

"Are we cool?"

"Yeah."  It’s not as if Misha had been harder on Jensen than Jensen had been on himself.  It’s just that Jensen had gotten used to having someone at his back.  All the work in their friendship had been done by Misha, Jensen gruff and difficult but secretly pleased by their friendship. 

That may be another thing that Jensen has to work on.  Being a better friend, now that he knows what he has and how much losing it would hurt him.

"I do want all the details, though," Misha says unrepentantly, tousling his own dark hair with a careless hand. "Tell me all the filthy things you do."

"Canning is dirty work."

"Spoilsport. C’mon."

"I’m surprised you didn’t sneak over and stick your head in our bedroom window."

"I didn’t know that was an option," Misha says archly.

"You like to watch?"

It’s a blunt attack and Jensen has the singular joy of watching Misha gulp and stutter and then go uncharacteristically quiet.  He doesn’t often shut up and Jensen grins, wide and happy, watching Misha flounder.

"C’mon, you guys, I want ice cream!" Jared calls from the kitchen.

"We can talk about it," Jensen says and the naked hope on Misha’s face surprises him.  His friend recovers quickly.

"We can talk about it with Jared," Misha counters, still fiercely protective, of both of them it seems.

"Of course," Jensen says.  Then more quietly, "It’s hard.  Talking."

"We’ll keep working on you," Misha says, and reaches out to pat at Jensen’s bare shoulder. "Let’s see what I can get you to admit while you’re making ice cream."

 

 


	12. Appleblossom

"This isn’t what I had in mind," Misha says dryly. 

It’s two months into the official start of Jared and Jensen’s relationship—the one they rekindled in the ashes of their old one, holding each other in the middle of the farmer’s market—and they’re out to dinner.

No fancy white tablecloths.  No tuxedos and red roses.  The diner is cozy and down home, the perfect place for jeans and a t-shirt.  Which all three of them are wearing.

Of course, Jared is wearing a little something extra.

"You said you wanted to watch," Jensen responds innocently.

"I thought you were talking about an athletic, naked romp with your sex god boyfriend.  Not mind games over meatloaf."

"Are you tapping out?" Jared asks.  Misha narrows his eyes at him.  Jensen rolls his.  They both are too competitive for their own good.

"Buzz him, Jensen."

Jensen pats the remote in his pocket. "Not yet."

"That wasn’t an answer, Misha," Jared says.

"No, I’m not tapping out."

"Because you always can," Jared continues, shifting in his seat, his voice taking on the lofty tones of a professor. "Communication is important. So is respecting your own boundaries."

"That was entirely too obnoxious," Jensen decides and presses the button on the remote.  Jared hisses out a breath and clutches the edge of the table.  The vibrating plug that Jensen placed inside Jared’s ass is rumbling on a medium setting, just enough to make Jared red-faced and hard in his pants.

"Thanks, Jensen," Misha preens, eyes alight with excitement as he watches Jared writhe.

Jensen thumbs the remote to a lower setting. “You need to behave yourself as well or you’re moving to sit at the counter.  With your back to us.”

"Yes, Jensen," Misha says repentantly.  He doesn’t want to be left out.  It’s been a tentative dance, these past months, Jensen and Jared navigating their own relationship pitfalls, working on their communication, and deciding where and when to invite Misha in, an avidly voyeuristic guest, but one who seems content to only watch, not to play.

"You can order for me and Misha," Jensen instructs Jared. "I won’t talk to the waitress.  Only you will."

"Okay, what do you want—"

"No.  We won’t tell you.  You’re going to have to figure it out.  Guess correctly or you’ll be punished."

A bit panicked, Jared looks from Misha to Jensen and then back again, still squirming in his chair.  It’s a task that has an additional appeal: making Jared conquer his fear of displeasing people.  He likes detailed, specific instructions, the knowledge that if he pays attention and follows directions, he can meet the mark.  This lack of structure is a dizzying drop. Something will be forgotten or incorrect.  It may be impossible to succeed completely.

Jared opens the menu and sets himself to frantically reading it, like a college kid cramming desperately for an exam.

Opening his as well, Misha begins to skim through the menu items, eyes flicking to Jared.  Jensen keeps his closed however, arms folded.  He took a menu from the diner a week ago and memorized the items, not that he’ll ever tell either Misha or Jared that.

"You’ve got this," Misha says suddenly.  They've kept their play with Misha light, but he already had an unerring knack for settling Jared's nerves. "You know us.  You’re observant.  You’ll pick right."

Gratified, Jared gifts Misha with a dimpled smile.

"Don’t praise my boy without my permission," Jensen scolds, but secretly he’s pleased.  Misha is good at reading Jared, good at knowing when he needs a boost of confidence.  He thumbs off the remote, listens to Jared’s sigh of relief.

"Sorry, Jensen."

"Maybe you need a corrective plug."

"Maybe," Misha murmurs, but shrugs innocently when Jensen narrows his eyes at him.

The waitress saunters over, looking friendly but weary.  She’s a tiny thing, dark hair up in a sloppy topknot, gingham apron over jeans and a burgundy polo shirt.  She smiles appreciatively at Jensen, before saying, "Hi, I’m Gen. What can I get you to drink?"

Jensen merely cocks an eyebrow.

"Uh, iced tea for him," Jared says hastily. "And a Coke for him." His head jerks over at Misha.

"Oh-kay.  And you?"

Jared looks desperately at Jensen, then back at the waitress.  She shifts impatiently.

"Just water," Jared says weakly.

"Suuure. Be right back with those."  With one last unimpressed look, Gen walks off towards the kitchen.

"I feel terrible," Jared says.

"Poor girl, she didn’t consent to any of this," Misha says wickedly.

"So don’t make it weird for her," Jensen says.

"Too late."

"How…how did I do?" Jared asks.

"My drink was correct," Jensen says and Jared smiles.

"I wanted a beer," Misha replies.

"You fucking liar, I’ve never seen you drink at lunch time!" Jared exclaims.

"A beer," Misha enunciates haughtily.

"Settle down, you two," Jensen says. "Misha don’t be difficult."

"But I did want a beer!"

"Do you need to go sit at the counter?"

"I stick by my choice!"

"Liar!" Jared says.

"Definitely a corrective plug," Jensen murmurs and turns the remote to its highest setting.  Jared lets out a stifled yelp and grabs the table top again.  Misha subsides into goggle-eyed silence. "Of course, just one plug seems to work well enough for you both."

"Oh please, Jensen, punish me again," Misha murmurs.

"Oh…God…please…Jen…"

"Um, the waitress is coming back," Misha hisses and Jensen thumbs off the remote.  Jared slumps over the table, breathing hard.  Their waitress sets down their drinks with the kind of care one sees when approaching unstable people sitting on a public bus.

"Can I take your order?"

"Um…vegetable lasagna for the three of us," Jared says quickly, voice breathy.

"All three of you?"

"Yes."

"Oh-kay," Gen says.  As she walks away Jensen hears her mutter, "Not even the night shift and I still get the weird ones."

"I like her," Misha says. "Vegetable lasagna?"

"Yes," Jared replies. "Because that’s what Jensen wants.  And I don’t care I’m so damn turned on. And you’re just going to lie anyway."

"That’s correct," Jensen says.

"Do I get a reward?"

"Let’s see if you can make it through the meal with the plug on," Jensen says and thumbs the remote back to low.  Jared lets out a quiet moan. "And if you and Misha can be civil to each other throughout the meal, I’ll suck you off when we get home and let him watch."

"Awesome," Misha says breathily.

"Agreed then," Jensen says and takes a sip of his tea.  There's a wicked rush building in his blood now, but it feels good, it feels right.  There's no fear.  "Now both of you _behave_."

END


End file.
